#under the weeping willow

[archivist-crow]

“Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow" - Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt & Emmylou Harris performing on The Dolly Parton Show (1976)

[duskandcobalt]

wip wednesday 💕

i'd like to take a brief interlude from my depressive spiral to present a small excerpt from the slutty elriel fic i'm working on, still hoping to get this out this week but taylor swift put a pin in my plans and i've been wallowing in bed for like 96 straight hours.

no warnings here bc im saving the actual slutty content for the full published piece.

hope everyone's having a good week 💖

Elain blindly wandered down the dark hallways.The echo of her heels on the stone floor was menacing, causing the already frantic beat of her heart to rise to an almost worrisome crescendo. It didn’t help that she could barely see and was relying solely on the occasional flickering fae light and the cool, insistent shadow pressed to the small of her back to guide her towards her mystery destination.

It felt like she’d been walking for hours, turning this way and that in the labyrinth that made up the various chambers of this unfamiliar place but finally, the pressure of the shadow on her back eased as she approached an arched door right at the end of the seemingly never ending hallway. She paused in front of it, unsure what to do until the shadow slid up her arm and along her neck, wrapping itself around her ear. 

Go.

Elain swallowed, her gloved hand reaching out for the doorknob. 

Subconsciously, she knew where that shadow had been guiding her. Knew that the neat, dark interior of this room was the perfect match for what she’d always imagined in those salacious dreams of hers.

She’d been ready to see him. Aching to see him. But to open the door and get her first glimpse of him… she hadn’t quite been ready for that. 

Azriel was reclined in a leather chair behind his desk. The jacket he'd been wearing earlier had been discarded and left to drape on cabinet at the far end of the room. The first few buttons of his crisp white shirt was undone, providing a glimpse of the tantalising tattoos hidden underneath. He had one long leg folded over the over, one ankle resting on his knee. And on that knee, cradled by his large, scarred hand, sat a short glass of amber liquid that perfectly matched his honeyed eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

[flamingredanon]

Random traditional doodle page featuring Wilford and Randy's fusion in stick form, Henry and Right getting some glasses post CtM, Adrian the humbug and Left as a Wubba (I think that is what they are called, inspired by these three pics)

[ebertsphotos]

Weeping Willow

Taken at Kasinopark, Georgsmarienhütte. This is another older photo, though unfortunately the metadata for it is inaccurate due to the camera malfunctioning. I took it in the Summer of 2022.

[maxbytes]

[haven-anyone-would-yearn-for]

@caveundertree

[newly-feral]

I woke up this morning to Ruston Kelly's version of Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow playing in my head. This song should not be an earworm...it's lovely, but it's also just soaked with loss. It's the story of being the one who isn't chosen, of being rejected by the person you think you're building a future with. Here's a sampling of the plaintiveness...

Bury me under the violets blue

To prove my love to him

Tell him that I'd die for him

His love I could never win

I went down a rabbit hole of versions, and you know what? This is the only one that actually matches the lyrics in the best possible way. Every other version sticks to the upbeat tone of The Carter Family's original recording, at least to some degree or another. But Ruston Kelly's version is like the most melodic funeral dirge of all time, beautiful, and pathetic, and incredibly sing-a-longable.

This may be the best cover of all time. There's a gravity to this song that is incredible.

On a side note, another great thing about it? He doesn't gender-flip the pronouns. Fucking champion.

[lovinglylu]

I actually had this stuck in my head all day

[silvery-stars]

did you know you can look at the town you grew up in and haven’t been back to since you moved out on google maps? but watch out!

[cinnamongrl2006]

♱ Knight!Simon Riley x Princess!reader ♱ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n: I love knight x princess stories, maybe because I want a strong capable man to take care of me, oh well, who knows. Also, I can't write accents phonetically for the life of me, so take what I give you plspls!!

warnings: fem reader, pure fluff, sfw

────��ৎ────

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who fell in love with you the second he stepped foot in the castle. He was assigned to watch and take care of you, the princess, before a worthy suitor whisked you away to another land, where you were to rule as queen.

That was the plan your family, your kingdom had set out for you, that was the future that awaited you. That was the future you wanted, or so you thought until you met him, your knight. The townspeople and the people of the court called him Ghost, they worshipped him almost as if he was a legend, they feared him.

He was tall, big all over. He'd expected you to be somewhat reluctant at his sudden proximity, scared of him, repulsed at his appearance— at his grotesque appearance, he thought, big gloved hands gripping the sword in his belt, face covered by his dark helmet. He expected you to treat him like all royals treated the service, like a lap dog, like an appendage, a simple accessory.

But you didn't. You looked at him like he hung the moon and stars, spoke to him as an equal, regarded him with wide eyes. You sat by the training yard when he'd practice swordfighting, a hand over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun, and you'd clap and cheer him on.

A week later he told you his real name, Simon. "But you can call me Si, love." He said it softly, walking you to the drawing room with a hand on the small of your back. His fingers tightened against the fabric of your dress when you repeated his name softly, to remember it better you'd said.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who started to get closer to you, to trust you, quicker than he usually did. He thought maybe it was because of the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring, or the way you laughed at his totally unfunny jokes like they were comedy gold.

At night, after he walked you to your quarters he'd go and stand under your window, because you always wanted to keep talking to him past your bedtime. You thought it was a shame it was dark outside when he had his helmet off, his voice was so deep, and his hands so big, his touch so warm— he had to be handsome.

He'd read to you, perched against a tree trunk, looking up at the balcony where he could make out the outline of your frame. He'd stay there with you until you started to yawn, and the sky turned orange, right before the birds sang. And then he'd walk back to his quarters and get as much sleep as he could before he had to be at your door again, picking you up after you got dressed, steering you to the dining room with a hand on the small of your back.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who, after weeks of dismissing your pleas, takes off his helmet in front of you. He doesn't like taking it off when he's at work, doesn't like being Simon when he's in the suit and armor, but for you he's already made an exception. He's surprised when you pull him down for a kiss behind a tree. You're taking a walk on the far side of the gardens, where the trees are tall and the foliage thick, and the sun doesn't get in your eyes.

After that day it became a common occurrence; you'd pull on his arm and steer him outside of the throne room. Tell your mother you were going for a walk, you'd be back before dinner, and you'd spend the entire afternoon tangled together under a weeping willow.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who told you he loved you one of those afternoons. Your head rested on his chest— armor discarded a while ago, his undershirt billowed in the wind— listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart and the rumbling anytime he spoke.

You had been telling him about a painting class you'd taken that day, his hums and caresses lulling you to sleep. It was the perfect occasion for him to say it, he couldn't hold it in any longer but he feared scaring you away if he said it out loud, the reality of your situation weighed heavy in his heart.

So he leaned his head down and kissed the top of your head, and with his lips pressed against your hair he said it.

"Love you s' much, sweetheart."

For a second he thought you really were asleep, and his words, his adoration for you, would stay a secret that only the trees that grew among you would know. But he felt you stir in his embrace, felt your hands snake around his neck, your lips find his jaw.

"Love you too, Simon."

────୨ৎ────

@cupidsworstcrime convinced me to write this 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Requests are open!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[joelsrose]

In Jackson, you’re the town’s accidental matchmaker—known for fixing hearts you’ve never held. But when Joel Miller becomes your next project, you realize you might’ve been saving all your love for him.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You weren’t a matchmaker.

Not by profession, not by study, not by any title that held weight in the world before it broke. There were no business cards tucked in your coat pocket, no laminated flyers advertising your services. Just a heart that loved love, a habit of noticing, and a hopeful little instinct that pulsed like a secret in your chest.

Still—ask around Jackson, and you’d find a different story. A soft one. Told with a smile, the shake of a head, and always some variation of, “That girl? She’s got stardust in her blood. Wild little thing. Got a sixth sense for soulmates.”

It had all begun one slow golden afternoon, the kind that drifted like a lullaby, sunlight spilling lazy and low through the windows of the dining hall. You were curled into your usual spot by the window—wrapped in a knitted cardigan, fingers curled around a chipped pink mug that smelled faintly of cinnamon tea. The world outside felt momentarily calm, like even the chaos had stopped to stretch its limbs and rest awhile.

Next to you sat your best friend—June, darling June—soft-eyed and sharp-tongued, with a mind like a fox and a heart like spun sugar. She was poking listlessly at something on her tray when you nudged her elbow, your voice low and dreamy.

“What about him?” you asked, your chin tilted ever-so-slightly toward the food line.

June blinked, then followed your gaze. “Who?”

“Him,” you murmured again.

Third in line. Holding a tin plate, standing quiet and unassuming. Broad shoulders tucked inward like he’d forgotten how to carry himself wide. A shadow of dark curls kissed the nape of his neck, tousled in the way that made your chest ache. His skin was sun-warmed and golden-brown from patrols, and there was a delicate old scar slicing through the upper curve of his lip—just enough to make him look like someone who'd lived, someone who’d earned softness. You’d heard his name once—Nick, maybe. Or something close. It didn’t matter.

You shrugged, a little smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. “He’s thirty-four. Single. Tommy says he’s reliable. Good with his hands.”

June blinked. “And?”

You took a sip of your lukewarm tea, savoring the quiet sweetness. “And he’s hot.”

June let out a laugh so genuine it made her shoulders shake and her tray clatter just slightly. “You’re impossible.”

But she looked again.

And she didn’t stop.

Three months later, they were married under a tangle of twinkling lights strung haphazardly between the greenhouse beams—fragile and glowing, like stars tangled in vines. Prairie flowers had been scattered at their feet, the petals soft and fragrant beneath June’s boots. There was no priest, no altar, no pews—just the people they loved, a sky the color of lavender milk, and the hush of evening air curling through the willows.

You’d sat in the front row, dressed in something pale and floaty, your lap full of rose petals and your lashes sticky with tears. You looked like a girl in a fairytale, and for once, you felt like one too.

When June kissed her husband, you tossed petals into the air like confetti, laughing through your weeping, glowing like a lantern lit from within.

And after that, the name stuck. Maybe it was Tommy who said it first. Maybe it was that old woman with the stubborn chickens and a soft spot for gossip. Whoever it was, the nickname clung to you with the sweetness of spun sugar and a hint of mischief: “The Cupid of Wyoming.”

Cheesy? Sure.

But it felt like glitter in the air. Like a compliment dipped in honey. Like something real and soft and quietly magical.

Like something earned.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

After June and Nick, it was as if something inside you had been quietly set into motion—some hidden, unspoken gift you’d never reached for, now fluttering awake like the soft flicker of candlelight in your chest.

You hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t studied it. You simply felt it, the way one might feel the weather shift or the hush before snow. A new tenderness unfolding—sudden, sure, and full of light.

Soon, people began to find you.

They came with shy grins and hearts held like offerings, turning to you with something raw in their eyes. In the stables, while you were brushing down a chestnut mare. In the infirmary, during slow afternoons spent organizing bandages. In the dining hall, interrupting your spoonful of stew with nervous laughter and the same quiet hope: “Do you think maybe… you could help me find someone?”

And each time, you smiled. Beamed, really.

Because no matter who they were—men, women, young, old, guarded, grieving—it always came down to the same fragile thing. No matter the bruises the world had left behind, no matter the losses or the loneliness, they all still wanted love.

They still believed in it.

And that—that—made your heart bloom with something holy. Not just because they trusted you with something so intimate. But because you understood that ache in its entirety. You knew what it meant to want someone’s name to be the first thing you whispered in the morning. You had once known love deeply, fully, sweetly—before the world had fallen apart and taken him with it.

You had worn a ring. Gold and simple. Promised to a man whose laughter still echoed in your memory like wind chimes on a summer porch. You’d tasted a forever once, had your hands warmed by it, your future shaped by it.

And then it was gone.

So now, when they came to you wide-eyed and soft-spoken, asking for something beautiful in the middle of all this ruin, you said yes. You always said yes.

Because you believed they deserved it, all of them. Because once upon a time, so did you.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Maria’s voice drifted beside you, gentle and rhythmic, like the clinking of teacups or the way wind rustles through linen curtains. She was recounting something about greenhouse repairs—something to do with a busted water pipe and a nosy hen that wouldn’t leave her tomatoes alone—but your focus had shifted, utterly and irreversibly, to the bundle curled in your arms.

Benji.

Only six months old, but already a perfect symphony of his parents—Maria’s honey-brown eyes, Tommy’s sleepy smile, a patch of hair that refused to settle no matter how often Maria tried to smooth it. His cheeks were impossibly soft, like clouds that had decided to stay earthbound, and his laughter—light and sudden—poured from him like music whenever you made a silly face.

So you kept doing it. Wriggling your nose. Puffing out your cheeks. Whispering little nonsense stories into the shell of his ear just to hear that laugh again. It was pure, high, and joy-soaked. It made your chest feel warm and floaty, like rosewater fizzing in your lungs.

Across the room, Tommy dropped into the armchair with a tired grunt and an easy smirk curling at his mouth. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, his gaze soft but mischievous.

“So,” Tommy drawled, his voice rich with amusement, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth, “how’s it going, Dr. Love?”

Maria laughed softly beside you, that warm, tinkling kind of laugh that said she’d heard this joke before and still found it charming.

You didn’t lift your gaze—just kept your arms gently cradled around Benji’s warm little body, thumb moving in lazy circles over the embroidered moon stitched into his onesie. He was drifting, lids heavy, cheeks rosy with that particular kind of peace only babies seem to know. You smiled, small and sleepy. “It’s going alright.”

“That so?” Tommy asked, leaning back into the couch with a low sigh, boots scuffed and arms folded. There was mischief dancing at the edges of his voice. “What’s the count now—how many babies named after you? Three? Four?”

“Tommy,” Maria chided gently, the warning softened by amusement as she reached over to adjust Benji’s sock, her hand brushing against yours.

He raised both palms in mock surrender, that same crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “What? I think it’s sweet. Little tribute to Jackson’s patron saint of matchmaking.”

You shot him a look, head tilting with a knowing smirk. “You don’t believe in any of it.”

“I do,” he said easily, stretching out one leg and resting his boot on the rug. “I’m just not a hopeless romantic like you.”

You raised a brow—slow, pointed—before glancing at Maria, then back at Benji, tucked against your chest like something sacred. The look said it all: And what do you call this, then?

Tommy caught it, his grin faltering just slightly as he let out a breath, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean… I think love’s beautiful. I do. Same as you. I just don’t think it shows up for everyone.”

Tommy went on, voice lower now. “I know that’s a little bleak. But not everyone gets a perfect fit. Sometimes it don’t work. And I guess I just… don’t want you thinkin’ it’s your job to make it happen every time.”

You watched him closely, the weight in his tone landing soft but true.

“I’ve seen the way you look at people,” Tommy said, his voice quiet now, steady, softened at the edges like something worn smooth by time. “Like you see somethin’ more than the rest of us do. Like you already know what they need before they do.”

He paused, watching you with a gaze that felt heavier than before—gentle, but full of truth.

“But you ain’t a miracle worker, sweetheart. And the first time it don’t go the way you hoped…” His words trailed off, then came back quieter. “I just don’t wanna see you lose that light you’ve got.”

You exhaled, a little laugh pressed into your chest, though it didn’t quite reach your lips. “Thanks, Tommy.”

He nodded, offering a half-smile full of worn-in affection. “That’s alright, darlin’. Just sayin’. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

The words hung in the air like dust in sunlight—quiet, suspended, and somehow… wrong. Not cruel. Not careless. But wrong in the way that makes your pulse thrum and your spine stiffen, like something in your bones rising up to argue.

Because sure, you weren’t naïve. You knew people lost the ones they loved. You knew some waited forever, and others lived lifetimes without that soft place to land. You knew grief. You weren’t foolish.

But you also believed—deep in that wild little heart of yours—that if someone tried, if they were brave, if they had a little help, then love could be found. Even after all this. Even here.

Tommy must’ve seen the flicker on your face, because he barked out a sudden laugh. “Shit. What’d I say now?”

You shook your head, trying to tamp down the heat rising in your chest. “Nothing,” you muttered, gaze dropping back to Benji, who was beginning to stir, one tiny fist curling near your heart.

Tommy chuckled again, leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Nah, I know that look. You’re plottin’ somethin’. That little fire’s startin’ to burn.”

You gave him a half-hearted glare, your lips twitching despite yourself. “Am not.”

“Sure you’re not,” he teased, then softened. “Tell you what,” he said, his tone dipping low, like he was offering something important. “I��ll make you a deal.”

You raised a brow, cautious and curious all at once. “A deal?”

He nodded once. “You really believe in all this love-for-everyone business? That there’s somebody for anyone?”

“I do.”

“Alright then,” he said, sitting back like he’d just laid a card on the table. “You find him someone—and I’ll believe it, too.”

Your breath caught just slightly. “Him?”

Tommy jerked his chin toward the hallway—toward the sound of heavy boots and that familiar slow gait.

You didn’t have to ask.

Joel.

Of course.

You blinked, heart skipping in that strange, traitorous way it sometimes did when he was near but hadn’t spoken yet. “You want me to find Joel Miller a soulmate?”

Tommy grinned. “Yep. Find that man a good woman, and I’ll admit I was wrong.”

Maria, who had been silent for a while now, gave you a look over her tea—half warning, half wonder.

And you?

You looked toward the hallway, toward the man who didn’t believe in soft things but moved like he carried the weight of every love he’d ever lost.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you’d just accepted a challenge…

…or opened a door you wouldn’t know how to close.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Eeeekkk this was so much fun to write!!! I was fully possessed by the spirit of The Materialists and had to get this out of my system IMMEDIATELY 😭💘 I really hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I adored writing it!! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist—I'd love to keep you in the loop for more soft chaos and yearning 😚💌🌸

[pepminttea]

I hate tinder whatever happened to making a flower crown, throwing it in the river, and marrying the person who retrieves it for you?

[booklovingcreechur]

Elrond is said to be "as kind as summer", which I absolutely love as a descriptor. I imagine this as resting under a weeping willow by a river bank in the middle of June. Every time you start to feel uncomfortably warm, a gentle breeze sweeps over the cool water and brushes your hair away from your forehead. That feeling of restfulness and comfort, that feeling of the warm sun and gentle breeze that is always there for you, that is the kindness of Elrond Halfelven.

[borathae]

Kiss the Cook

“Yoongi loves to cook for you. You love to watch him as he does and soon you can’t take it anymore. You have to kiss him or you will implode.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, domestic Fluff

Warnings: cutie!Yoongi, Yoongi being a sexy cook, i said what i said, he blushes!, she feeds him some tangerines <3, as she sits on the kitchen counter, making out on said counter, Yoongi in a woolen jumper, idk but this is so hot to me and therefore needs a warning, they’re grossly in love!!!, i want what they have #bigsad

Wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i love him, i love them, i love her, i love this :( enjoy besties, oy!Yoongi is going to be the fucking death of me fjdjasf he is such a cutie ❤ ps: does a story sometimes make you feel so single or discontent with your current love life that you want to claw your own eyes out? yeah. this is that story for me. i want what they have fuxkxk they feel so mature and settled and :( grrr spreading negativity all around me grrrr

You invited Yoongi over for dinner and wine. Which means that he comes over to your place to cook while you watch him and sip on wine. Now, this isn’t because you are lazy or you are forcing him to cook. On the contrary, it was Yoongi’s idea. He loves cooking for you, so you learned, and these little dinner dates have become a regular thing in your relationship.

And it is perfect. You get to see him and talk to him. He gets to do something he loves whilst talking to you. And at the end of it, you can share the yummiest dinner ever and experience a giddy tingle in your stomachs.

You invited him over tonight for exactly such a dinner date. You dressed up in a thick jumper and some woolen socks and even did your hair.

It has been snowing rather vividly all day, turning the roads into one powdery white plane with the rest of the world. The weeping willow in front of your sunroom is bending under the weight of the snow and the frozen stream is covered under a heavy layer of it as well. It is such a beautiful view, making you happy to be inside where it is warm and cozy.

Levi, your cute little cat, hasn’t left his spot by the fireplace all day. He spends most of his winter days napping where it is warm or watching the very few winter birds eat from your bird feeder. He will not leave for outside, however, that much is sure. It is way too much work to soil his good fur with sticky, wet snow.

You check the time again. Ten past eight. Yoongi should have been here by eight. You pace in front the sunroom windows, looking at the faint lights where his house might be. He decorated the outside with lots of Christmas lights and on the nights where you miss him, you like to stand in the sunroom and look up at the lights. Whenever you do, it feels as if he was right there with you. 

Tonight however, the view makes you uneasy. Where is Yoongi and why isn’t he here yet? Did he slip and hit his head? Did a huge chunk of snow fall on him and he is now buried alive somewhere? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he forget?

Nervously biting your own nails, you hurry to the front door to take another peek outside. 

“Oh, shit!” Yoongi exclaims, stumbling back and almost dropping the grocery bags he is carrying under his arms.

You flinch back too, not having expected him to literally stand right in front of the door in the midst of ringing your bell.

“Sorry, you scared me”, he apologises for his cursing. He is bundled into the thickest winter coat ever, wearing a beanie, scarf and gloves with it. His snow pants are covered in snow up to his thighs, his winter boots are basically white from all the snow. The last few inches of his coat are opened. Holly, wearing a little beanie as well, is peeking out from it. Yoongi must have bundled him up in it to keep him warm. The view is adorable.

“You scared me too. I wanted to check if I could spot you. Come in”, you say, stepping out of the doorway.

“Yeah, sorry for being late. I underestimated the height of the snow. I had to fight my way down here without falling on my butt. I waddled like I was ninety.” 

“No worries, I’m just so happy that you’re here now and that you’re safe. I already pictured the worst scenarios ever.” 

Yoongi chuckles, “I survived. Barely, but I survived.”

You laugh. He is so funny, making you laugh again when he struggles with undressing.

“Wait. Let me take the bags so you have your hands free.”

“Thanks.” 

“Of course, I’ll carry them to the kitchen if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be with you soon.”

You are in the midst of unpacking the groceries when Yoongi and Holly join you in the kitchen. Holly greets you first, jumping up your leg and barking excitedly. 

You coo, picking him up to let him lick your face. 

“I missed you too, you little stinker. Aw big kissies, yes big kissies.”

“He really missed you”, Yoongi says, walking to you. 

“Yeah, I missed him too.” You hand him Holly. “And I missed his dad even more. Hey there, handsome”, you say, stealing a kiss. 

Yoongi smiles into it, rubbing your waist as the kiss breaks.

“Hey there, beautiful. I missed you too.” He says and then takes a step back to set down Holly. The little toy poodle instantly sets off to explore your home and look for Levi. 

Yoongi studies your get-up, “I love what you did with your hair. It suits you.”

“Thank you, heh. I tried something new.”

“It’s nice, really beautiful.”

“Thankies. Uhm, wine?” You offer. “I might have already started without you because I was picturing you dying somewhere.”

He laughs, “what a relaxing thing to do. I won’t say no to some wine, thank you.”

You prepare him a glass, then cheer with him. He enjoys it with a hum. Afterwards he touches your hip and kisses your cheek. You lean into it, smiling from ear to ear. He is always so gentle with you. You love it so much.

“I hope that you’re hungry. I’m making risotto tonight”, Yoongi says.

“Yes risotto! I love risotto. I haven’t eaten since twelve because I wanted to be really hungry tonight.” 

Yoongi smiles and begins. He puts on the apron you made for him and rolls up his sleeves. Well, at least he tries to because you stop him before he can.

“Wait, let me.”

He gazes at your face as you work, cheeks slightly flushed and heart racing. 

“Thanks”, he whispers, trying oh so hard not to expose how giddy he actually feels. Spoiler alert, he feels very giddy. You are always so tender with him. He loves it so much.

Yoongi is wearing a brown jumper made out of the softest wool. It is warm and sits on his body in the most perfect of ways. His chest and back are defined in it, but he still looks snuggly. You feel so attracted to him that it is difficult not to bite him. In an adoring way of course. 

It also isn’t helping that he is wearing your favourite cologne and a watch which really fits his wrist. Once his sleeves are rolled up, you can’t help but feel up his arms just once. You trace his veins, squeeze him and play with his fingers.

Yoongi chuckles lazily, closing his hands around yours.

“Is this still part of the service?” 

“No, this was for me. You look really sexy in this jumper.”

He smiles and pulls you close to steal a kiss. You give it to him with a fluttering heart, gazing deep into his eyes once it breaks. He has the most beautiful eyes.

“I put it on for you. Because you once said that you like me in a jumper.”

“I do. I could bite you, I’m serious.”

“Please don’t”, he laughs and pecks your cheek, “I’ll be quick with dinner, promise. No biting needs to happen.”

“Maybe a little bit of biting.”

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“If I knew that I would be dating a biter, I might have reconsidered”, he jokes, busy with setting up some pans.

“You like it. Don’t lie”, you say and sit down on the kitchen counter.

“Maybe I do.”

You snicker, picking up a tangerine to peel it as he cooks.

And so it begins. One of the coziest and most beloved date activity as a couple. He cooks while you watch him. There are only a few things better than this. 

You have the radio playing. Christmas songs because it is almost time for the holidays. The tangerine fills the air with a cozy scent and the wine tastes especially good. Whenever you and he aren’t lost in conversation, you can listen to Yoongi hum to the songs on the radio. He has a very nice singing voice. Deep and warm. You could listen to it for hours. Just as you could listen to him talk for hours.

“How are your legs by the way? Did the snow soak through your snow pants?” you ask him, staring at his butt. 

It isn’t your fault, he is wiggling it to the music. It is his fault that you have to take a sneaky look.

“Mhm? No, my legs are fine. The snow didn’t soak through.”

“That’s good to hear. How was your day?”

“It was good. I fixed some things in the upstairs bathroom and started with the chaulking.”

Yoongi is still renovating his house. It is a very big project and he isn’t stressing himself, so it’s been taking some time already. You don’t mind. It just means that he will have to stay over more often whenever the building site is too dirty. Quite frankly, a part of you secretly wishes for the renovations to take forever just so he will keep coming over to sleep in your bed. You really love having him sleep in your bed. Not only because he is a total cuddlebug (don’t spread these news to anyone, he is very shy about it) or because he always smells so good, but also because you feel safer with him close. 

“Chaulking? Wow, this sounds like process”, you say.

“Yeah, it’s been going really well lately.” He turns for a moment. “And you? Did you have a good day?”

“I had a really good day. I made some progress on the scarf and then did some yoga. Tangerine?” 

Yoongi closes the distance, snacking on the slice you’re offering.

“This sounds like a good day. You have to be finished soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it's almost finished, which is very exciting if you asked me.”

You are currently knitting a scarf and have been regularly sending updates to Yoongi via text messages. His reactions to the messages vary from “good job!” all the way to the very rare and precious thumbs up emoji. He is honestly such a cutie.

“I can imagine. Do you have a new project in mind after you finish the scarf?” Yoongi takes one more slice of tangerine before he returns to the stove. 

While you begin telling him about all the knitting project ideas you have. You don’t leave out any details. The material of the yarn, the design, the colours, even what kind of stitches you plan on using. And Yoongi listens gladly, he asks questions and reacts with his very endearing version of enthusiasm. It means so much to you. Being loved by him is so fulfilling. You feel so important, as if your existence has purpose. There is not one thing about you which isn’t important to him or which you feel like you have to hide from him.

It might sound strange, but being loved by him is so freeing. You feel so whole and so happy and you love him so much in return. 

Yoongi steals one more slice of tangerine, staying close to you afterwards as he slices some mushrooms for the risotto.

“And what about you? Any new music projects you are working on?” you ask him, switching your adoring gaze between his face and his hands. He has such sexy hands.

“Yes, so many”, he says, nodding his head.

“Tell me everything.”

You listen to everything he has to tell you, gazing at him with the biggest heart eyes. He is so interesting and exciting. His hobbies are so wonderful to listen to. As much as you love talking to him, you love listening just as much.

Yoongi feels content with you. He feels utterly and completely happy. There is nothing missing with you. When he is with you, he feels whole and like himself. There is not even the littlest thing about him he feels like he has to hide from you and whenever he comes out of one of his accidental monologues about his interests, he isn’t met with boredom but enthusiasm and questions. Truly, his nerdy little heart swells thrice its size when he is with you. 

A moment of silence follows after you and he exchanged interests. Happy and jazzy Christmas music fills it. Yoongi picks up the cutting board, carrying it to the pan so he can sauté the mushrooms in some butter. He adds the rice afterwards, seasoning it before he pours white wine into the pan. He pours some of the wine in his glass afterwards, closing the distance to clink glasses with you. 

“To this evening”, he says, smiling one of his pretty, soft smiles he always does.

“To this evening and to you, the best boyfriend ever.” 

“Be quiet”, he mumbles and drinks from his glass, looking to the side shyly. He blushes.

“Never. You need to know”, you say and lean in to munch on his cheek. 

“Hey. No biting”, he laughs as he complains, moving back. 

“Mhm, then how about I kiss the cook instead?” you say, setting the wine aside to pull him closer.

He lets you tug him between your legs, smiling at you and setting the wine aside. His eyes fall to your lips, his hands dance along a path which consists of your waist, hips and the side of your thighs.

“You’ve got a minute before I have to get back to the risotto”, he says.

“Then let me make the best of it”, you say, pulling him into a kiss. 

How you make the best of this one minute. You kiss him as if you missed him for a million years, as if you needed him for survival, as if his lips are all you ever wished for. It might only be a minute, but Yoongi comes out of this kiss with slightly wobbly knees and a racing heart. His cheeks are flushed, his lower lip tingles as you end the kiss by biting on it gently. 

“What was that for?” his voice is raspy, his eyes foggy as they gaze at your lips.

“Just felt like it”, you whisper, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Should we like, I don’t know, should I remove the pan from the stove for a moment?” 

You laugh, scrunching your nose. You know what he is insinuating, stomach tingling at the aspect of it.

“And why should you do that?” you tease him, tinting his cheeks an even deeper pink. He curses under his breath, giving your hips a gentle squeeze.

“You drive me crazy, you know. First kissing me like this and then acting innocent.”

“Shouldn’t you check on the rice?”

Yoongi lets out a whine of discontent, but breaks away from you to stir the rice. He glances at you. You retort the glances, heart racing like crazy. His hair is a little messy because you played with it as you kissed him. His lips are slightly puffy and flushed pink. Quite frankly, he has never looked more attractive than he does right now in your little kitchen wearing the black apron you made for him as he cooks you dinner and seems just a little ruffled from your kiss. 

You lift the glass of wine to your equally as puffy lips, giving him an eye smile as you sip the sweet alcohol. Yoongi blushes, shifting his gaze to dinner. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth mindlessly while his hands are busy with pouring chicken stock over the rice. 

You and he both feel the electric sparkles in the air. The feeling is addicting, just as it is addicting to spend time with each other. You just work so well together, you are so right. 

“You know”, you begin.

“Yes, baby?” he answers you, voice warm and caring.

“I love having you over.” 

He glances again. His eyes sparkle, his teeth show in the shiest of smiles.

“I can look at you, I get to listen to you and talk to you. I love it.”

“Yeah, I love it too.”

“And I get to kiss you. It’s pretty awesome.”

He looks at your lips, raising your pulse with it.

“You know. I, theoretically, have one minute again”, he says, giving you puppy eyes.

You laugh because you love when he flirts. You set the wine aside, making grabby hands at him.

“Then come here and make it count.”

Yoongi sets the spoon aside, closing the distance. How he is going to make it count.

[xingumi]

summer with megumi (megumi fushiguro x reader)

notes: did this super quick, thank you for all the love on my last post, really i am beyond grateful!! requests r open :3

tags: sfw, fluff, gn!reader, established relationship, very very fluffy, just cuteness, nonsorcerer au

summer with megumi feels like cotton clinging to your skin because he insists on cuddling despite the heat wave. a thin layer of sweat glues your shirt to you, just as megumi has glued himself to your backside. you’d already swapped the duvet out for a light blanket, which has still been kicked halfway off the bed. “i’m dying, megumi,” you huff.

“i’m fixing the AC tomorrow, the fan’s on and the window’s open. it’s out of my hands…” he mutters into the back of your hair.

“let up for one night?” you plead and push your body forward, but the forearm snaking around your waist holding you to him doesn't budge. you feel his weight shift behind you, and for a second you think he might spare you from his body heat. instead, he reaches over to the comically small fan, switching it to a higher setting before reassuming his position right behind you.

“better?”

you accept your fate and lean back into him, knowing this is a fight you’ll never win. “night, honey.” he whispers. his tolerance for sleeping sweaty is stronger than his tolerance for sleeping without cuddling you.

summer with megumi looks like a living claude monet painting. he walks in front of you and gently holds your hand across the small wooden arch bridge. it whines under the weight of the two of you. you peer over the thin railing to look at the water underneath, reflecting the filtered rays of sun and sparkling like diamonds. “watch your step,” he says as you reach the landing. you’re too busy admiring the water lilies and lush greenery that you don’t immediately notice the picnic he’s set out in a shaded area under a weeping willow. he places a light hand on the small of your back to get your attention. you whip your head back and forth in disbelief between your boyfriend and the date he’d methodically planned. he gives you an amused smile. “go on, i’m right behind you.”

you spend the afternoon snacking on the light picnic spread he prepared in the gaps between quiet conversation. the only sound other than your voices is an occasional birdsong and the constant rustling of breeze-shaken leaves. he lays in your lap with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling with his breathing… has he fallen asleep? after a long, quiet moment, you’re sure he has and you take the chance to press a kiss between his eyebrows. “thank you, megumi…”

summer with megumi sounds like juna by clairo. easy, dulcet melodies that play in blown out speakers at the beach. they sound like waves crashing on the shore, mixed with the clean plunk! of a volleyball being hit around by you and your friends. megumi observes your game as the scorekeeper. his white linen is open with a few buttons undone at the top, letting the sun hit his sharp collarbones and his upper chest. “i can’t see the ball with the sun in my eye,” you both know he’s lying, he would rather just watch you after the first couple rounds. you manage to coax megumi to at least dip his feet into the water.

“what did i get you those swim trunks for?” you ask rhetorically. “humor me, please.” you go back and forth for a few moments and he pretends like he can refuse you when you look so pretty like this. he doesn’t actually mind going in the water, he’d do anything at your request. he just wished it were just the two of you, so he could be as affectionate as he wanted without holding back.

he shoves his balled up fists into his pockets and waddles over awkwardly to where the ocean meets the sand. within a few minutes, you already regret asking him to get in. the air is filled with your sharp cries and laughter as he swipes water at you relentlessly.

summer with megumi tastes like one of everything at the food stalls in the carnival that comes into town every summer. he holds your bag on his shoulder as you practically dart from booth to booth. a long afternoon of waiting on line for rickety rollercoasters had built up quite the appetite for you, and everything just smelled so good. megumi decided you shouldn’t have to choose and passed a handful of cash to you quietly. “get me something small too.”

it makes him happy to make you happy. after making sure you ate to your heart’s content, there was only one last thing he wanted to do before heading home for the night.

the sun had just disappeared below the horizon as your ferris wheel cage approached the highest point of the ride. the lights of the carnival below you were warm and dazzling. you squeeze megumi’s hand as the cage rounds the top of the long arch. “thank you for such a great day, megumi,” you breathed, holding his arm close to your chest and resting your cheek on his shoulder. he looked at you with adoration swelling in his eyes. you meet his eyes with heightened awareness of how close your face is to his. he wastes no time and brazenly presses his lips to yours with a little more force than you were expecting. he tastes the residual sweetness of cotton candy on your mouth and laughs into the kiss. “thank you too,” he cooed lightly.

[sleepynoons]

Under the Same Sky

Mydeimos and you are husband and wife. In ancient China, where the heavens and earth exist in the same dimension, your husband slays beasts and demons to protect the Emperor and the Holy Nation. You yourself are closely related to divinity, though it is a relationship you wish to abandon, because the heavenly forces have only wished the worst upon you. And it seems nothing has changed, when the divine wants to destroy your and Mydei's relationship.

mydei x afab!f!reader, chinese mythology!au, nsfw

word count: ~17,400

cw: angst/slight comfort, minor character death, religious/spiritual imagery/themes/depictions, graphic descriptions of violence/blood/death, unprotected sex, marking kink, a singular instance of a blood kink, undertones of codependency, unintended phainon slander (truly just for the plot)

notes: to my beloved beta, @staraxiaa, i love you. truly. you have such a beautiful mind and an unmatched cadence to your words. thank you for all that you do for me, and this piece would not have come out of the vault without your encouragement and advice.

to readers, would soo appreciate reblogs, comments, and tags on this piece! i always put a bit of my soul in my writing, but truly, as a chinese person myself, this fic is especially special in my heart. i may post an author's note (update: you can find my thoughts here), but for now, i hope you are able to walk away from this piece knowing a bit about my heritage, culture, and mythology, though there may be several historical inaccuracies LOL

EVERYONE IN the village knows Mydeimos loves you and you love Mydeimos. In particular, the elders, those who often sit under the weeping willows at noon and fan themselves with their cheap linen imitations of the gongshan, laugh amongst themselves about the blush that had blossomed on Mydeimos’ face with your first appearance and has never left since, until the faint outlines of their grandchildren appear on the border between the horizon and the flat earth. Because who could believe that their village chief, a figure of authority and demand – though a son he will forever be remembered as in the villagers’ eyes and memories  – would ever look so pathetically adorable. But at this point, it is not a question anymore, moreso a teasing remark the people make in the presence of their adored chief.

And you, a girl of an unknown origin, from another collective li and li away, have also become a beloved member of this village. Even if you were not Mydeimos’ wife, your kindly manner, speaking always with a warming wisp of a smile, and the gentle curve of your upturned palm have won over the hearts of the villagers here.

It is clear to everyone that, by the decree of the heavenly gods above and their kindred spirits down on this earth in the forms of the water, leaves, wind, and destiny, that you and Mydeimos are for each other, to always be intertwined and inseparable in this vast, vast universe.

–

My love.

Mydei – just Mydei in your presence – twitches in his sleep, the magnetic pull of your voice coming from somewhere between the depths of his half-conscious, sleepy haze and the echoes from the four sun-stricken brick walls of your shared bedroom. You tantalize him already, when he has so much to do, so much to worry, so much to protect. After all, being one of the Emperor’s generals is no casual title, and one can tell because all he can boast about is the long hours of never-ending work and the deplorably large number of men he had to send to the infirmary the other day for they all lacked strength comparable to his. Indeed, he has much to be concerned about, yet in the spare moments of tranquility he is granted in the early morning, he allows himself to bask in both the warmth from the dawn sunlight that streams through the bamboo folding screens and radiates from your lulling tone.

Mydei.

He blinks awake, your silhouette discerned with more clarity with each closing and opening. You are holding the blanket up to your chest with one arm, while your other reaches over to stroke his hair, straightening out strands that have splayed themselves across his forehead, intermingling with the lengths of his eyelashes and paralleling the cut of his jawline.

You will be late.

Displeased at your reminder, he grunts and leans into your palm, the shape of it meant to caress and cradle his cheek. You do not make any noticeable reaction, except for the slight lifts at the corners of your lips. And you let him assume control of your hand, relinquish your time as well, so that you can connect with him before he sets off for another long day at work. Though work is never just work for someone as noble as Mydei, as even the trek to the Palace is fraught with danger, where assassins and mercenaries can be prowling in the shadows, waiting for the right timing to strike, attack, kill your lover, the chief of a village a slight ways away from the Capital, a general to the Emperor and this Holy Nation. 

Mydei then cups one of his hands over yours, and sits up with your fingers interlaced. With a quick glance, he is sated and actually smirks at the marks that bruise, bloom, and flourish across the delicate skin of your shoulders and neck. He leans over to kiss a spot that is undoubtedly the most stubborn of them all, the last that will fade from remembrance. 

I know. I am on my way now.

And, without another word, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets up to stride over to the washroom. You watch from your position, eyes lingering over the hardened and muscled build of his legs, the jagged scars that etch themselves into the broad scope of his back and sides, and the tanned lines that have begun to form on his arms, a sign that the height of spring has arrived. You wait until he has left the room to release a pleased hum before you, too, stretch and prepare yourself for your day.

In the courtyard, it is more than obvious that spring has fully encompassed the Holy Nation. The magnolia buds are green, hurried and eager in their pursuit for growth, and the scent of damp soil has begun to dissipate from the lack of overnight snow and frost. A young female servant, a recent addition to your handful of helpers, speaks in rapid, excited breaths as she serves you powdered cakes in bite-sized pieces and pours oolong tea into a brown porcelain cup, reciting news about the Emperor’s several princes she had overheard when she went to the market earlier today. You cannot help but chuckle as the servant takes a seat beside you, her arms propped up on the table with her face resting on her fist, humming as any young girl in love would. It just so happens that your head maid comes over at this moment and scolds the younger one.

Get up! Where are your manners? Apologize!

You simply wave them both off and ask the young servant to continue her relay. After all, she is not of age yet, so she can only daydream, and who are you to not indulge in such whimsies. She tells you of the second youngest prince, one of three in her generation, and she fantasizes of colliding into him in the streets as he makes an escape from the Capital. It is no surprise that the prince, along with all nine of his royal brothers, are mischievous, something that many Daoist priestesses have foretold as they ventured in and out of the Palace, prophecies that trace back even before the births of many of the Emperor’s sons. Yet the young servant’s fantasies are far too exaggerated and dependent on coincidence to ever materialize, so after a while, you begin to ask her other questions.

How are this season’s harvests? Are there murmurings of strife and conflict along the Northern border? Are the rabbits back?

She responds accordingly: seasonal goods, such as green peas and plums, seem to be more expensive and sparse than last year; no outbreaks so far, and people are anticipating a peaceful year ahead; the rabbits have begun to leave their burrows! In fact, regarding that last point, the servant urges you to finish your tea faster so you can visit the babies, and despite the exasperated protests from your head lady-in-waiting, you gulp the last dregs of your drink, bits of loose tea leaves included, before gathering your dress into your fists and rushing out of the pavilion.

Rabbits are cautious creatures. They are aware of their disadvantages and their being on the bottom of the food chain. And while this village that you have become a part of and that Mydei grew up in has long taken root in this region of the Holy Nation, the local flora and fauna have yet to fully adapt to the presence and caprices of humans. Where you are from, it is quite the opposite, in that the people of your origin have learned to assimilate with this earth, rather than the other way around. Where you are from, the rabbits are not afraid to come out of their burrows and shallow mounds to peer curiously – fearlessly – at their human neighbors.

As you and the young servant approach a lush corner of the courtyard, your steps decrease in stride and bumbling excitement. Instead, the two of you tread with silent passes, almost as if you were rabbits yourselves. And when the two of you make it to the edge of the walkway, you stand still and hold your breaths, waiting earnestly for even the most fleeting of a glimpse of the animals.

Since your youth, you have had a talent for disappearing, in the most neutral sense possible. With ease that a person of ego cannot bear to imagine or replicate, you are capable of shedding off all and any attachments you have to your person and melding into the sways of the wind, the humming of the bees, the thrums of the soil beneath your feet. You showed this ability of yours to Mydei before, albeit unintentionally. It was happenstance, something you had done out of habit when he had taken you out for a stroll along a manmade pond near the east end of the Capital and you were trying to feed a pair of restless magpies. You were only shaken out of your illusory state from the grounding pressure of his hand against your shoulder blade.

With an ability like that, you could easily conceal yourself and become an assassin.

You shrugged in response because, unlike him, there is no obligation for you to pursue the art or administration of death, and you figure you will never have to either.

This is all to say that, had it not been for the chirp of excitement from your lady-in-waiting, the rabbits would have approached you out of sheer intrigue. And as quickly as they shuffled out of their home, their grey and white whiskers and fluff ruffling in the breeze, their beady eyes take note of you and your servant before they recede back to safety. Your lady-in-waiting sighs with palpable adoration and lovesickness, and you promise her that there will be another chance tomorrow.

For the rest of the morning, you eat a quick breakfast under a pagoda, admiring the jasmine blossoms that flourish around the circumference, before making way to your fitting. Fittings only occur when special occasions are imminent, and with a banquet at the Palace in celebration of the fourth prince’s birthday occurring in two weeks, your other ladies-in-waiting have brought back several robes from the market for you to try on, no doubt on Mydei’s orders. There is a generous collection of blush, cream, and sunshine brocade and linen that await you, and as you dress and undress, tie and untie, spin and spin, it is unanimously agreed upon by all of your attendants that nothing will be returned. There is also a tray that holds various accessories, most notably a tasteful amalgamation of embroidered fans and gold-accented jinbu, and those are all kept as well. Of course, upon realizing that all of these valuables are yours and yours only, you pass on a message to one of Mydei’s servants to also visit the market with expectations of purchasing new cords for your husband’s hair, as well as a replacement for his worn yudai.

Then, it is lunch, but you tend to spend this time with the other villagers. With a parasol in one hand and a basket of tangerines and dried dates in the other, you head to the edge of the village, accompanied by two guards for formality’s sake. At the perimeter, where brick walls intercept a wide, trodden path, there are several benches and tables so that both residents and travelers alike can rest. When you first arrived, you, too, sat down here, gulping down a flask of water as you observed the hustle and bustle – not as busy as the Capital, but festive enough to indicate decent business and progress.

The elders and a few mothers already present greet you with dips of their chin. Usually, citizens are to greet those of nobility or high-ranking government positions with strict curtsies and bows, and while Mydei insists on the custom in speech, he does not uphold this rule quite as stringently. The reason for your visits are twofold: to know your people and to gather information. Though you have not yet born descendants of your and Mydei’s own, you have come to realize that children have sharp ears and loose mouths, fervent in their interminable search for entertainment and delight. The village is close enough for children to pursue education in the Capital if their parents so wished, so until many of them return, you pass your time underneath the arching path of the sun exchanging pleasantries and discussing matters.

By the time the little ones return, the sun is bathed in orange gold, half-concealed by the mountains you had once traversed, and there are but a few of the fruits remaining, just enough to quench their parched throats. As children do, they clamor to their respective guardians, complaining about the heat and how they are so sweaty and tired that there is no conceivable way they can continue to study later tonight. They also recognize you, and with a lightheartedness that more often occurs between friends of the same generation, they whine for your treats. You laugh as you hand the last pieces out, as you would when feeding cabbage bits to rabbits.

Upon your return home, the moon already having replaced the sun as the night’s guardian, you dismiss your guards, so you can bathe while the rest of the household eats. You much prefer solitude when you are in a vulnerable state, and your ladies-in-waiting are no exception to this preference, even if they are no stranger to a woman’s body. Sat on a stool, you strip yourself, letting all the layers collapse in a disheveled pile, and remove any pins and beaded strings from your hair. By now, your servants have become familiar with your ways, so there is already steaming water in the bronze bathtub, so you directly step in and submerge yourself up until your neck.

The hot water is not very pleasant against your warm skin, but you stay regardless, as spring evenings can still be unforgiving and biting. You watch as the water sloshes against the solid walls of the tub, causing the steam to waver before resuming its vertical ascendance, and do nothing even when a few splashes escape and drip down the exterior. After all, this time is allotted for you to think, nothing more. Your thoughts are preoccupied with declining trade with farmers outside of the Capital, many citing long-lasting droughts and fires as primary culprits, and there have been a sharp incline of those suffering from heat strokes and asthma. Some have even mentioned hallucinations of more than a single sun in the sky, and while you are not one to be affected by superstitious or mythical stories, you do find it odd that there have been multiple accounts of such a phenomenon from various distinct folks. These are pieces of information you must report to Mydei, though it is too early to draw any actionable conclusions.

You arise from your bath half an hour later, when the water has simmered down to a lukewarm. You dry yourself, adorn a simple beige gown with a matching robe over it, and make your way to the kitchen. By the moon’s position, if all goes smoothly, your husband should return in about two hours, more than enough for you to prepare his dinner.

Although you are not obligated to cook, you have sensed Mydei’s hesitation when it comes to consuming food that is prepared by those he is unfamiliar with. He trusts you and the villagers, but many of your household’s servants are from the Capital or elsewhere. Therefore, for both his sanity and safety, you have taken on the responsibility to provide him meals so that he may eat in peace at home. Besides, it is also an opportunity for the two of you to simply be together.

Just as you have set the last plate onto the dining table, Mydei returns, lamellar plates thunking and chain mail jostling with every heavy step he takes. It is a heaviness that resounds in your heart, for it is a reflection of his fatigue and, more importantly, the weight of the responsibilities he bears.

He does not come to greet you, not yet. He does not like appearing in front of you with his armor still on. He wants to avoid bringing in the stench of blood and grief into this abode he shares with you – does not want to taint you, his person of comfort and solace, with the violence you have no desire to take part in. Though, try as he might, deep down he knows it is to no avail, as his hands, the same ones he uses to touch and feel you, are already stained with death.

In the small shed, surprisingly compact and spare for a master of many weapons, he shrugs everything off with laborious groans. As each weighted iron slab and scratchy sheet of chain mail drops to the ground, Mydei lavishes in the slow regain of freedom in his movement. Lastly, he pulls off his helmet, and with a quick rub of his sleeve against a permanent smudge, he sets it on top of a drawer that contains duplicates of his uniform, first aid, and short daggers. He does not linger, and instead, swivels around to head to where you are.

When Mydei rounds the corner to stand in front of the kitchen entrance, double doors swung wide open, he cannot help but pause in his tracks, just a few paces away from joining you at the table in the center of the room. You peer at him from your seat, your chin resting in a divot formed by your palms, and also observe him, his face shrouded in shadows.

It is not so much a staring contest as it is a reverent yearning for one another. For no reason at all, it seems the two of you have a habit of practicing restraint – hesitation – before allowing yourselves to indulge in each other.

Come sit beside me.

I will. Let me admire you first.

And so you wait.

From Mydei’s perspective, you are the most beautiful at this time of the night. It is not to say that you are not in the morning, when you are still slumbering beside him with your hands splayed across his bare chest, or when you are pinned underneath him, a sinful image of you in your most disheveled state – his stained robe splayed out underneath your figure, your lungs heaving with pitched whines, your knees trembling with indecision as you fail to choose between spreading yourself open so that he can enter deeper or closing, and thereby restricting his movement, because the pleasure is unbearable. You are always his most precious, but he believes you are at your best when you are working towards an objective. And since your marriage, you have honored his same priority in protecting his people, and he will forever admire this determination of yours.

Truthfully, he never required such a sense of responsibility in his wife. In fact, before he met you, he had never imagined shouldering this duty with anyone else, let alone a stranger from somewhere far beyond. But you are no longer a stranger, and now, during your shared dinners, you are able to speak of this place as if you grew up here, alongside him and all the other villagers. You speak with incredible depth and acute intuition, and fortified by the precision and clarity in your words, he cannot help but think that, despite your personal aversions towards leadership and confrontation, you deserve to stand beside him in the ranks.

The oil lamps and candles on the dining table brighten your face with a gentle golden glow. He can see the flames’ flickering in your eyes, and behind you, he can hear the crackle of smoldering wood and charcoal. He walks over and takes a seat beside you, noticing the faint traces of fire and herbs that linger in your hair and at your shoulders. Pressing the side of his thigh against yours, he picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat, a gesture for you to initiate the conversation.

There is noticeable delay. We can no longer ignore the growing connection between the slowdown of trade with the recurring delusions of multiple suns in the sky. 

Do you think it could be divine punishment?

If we had incurred the wrath of Tian, we would have long suffered, and the Emperor would have justified the recent happenings. Our deities have no interest or patience for prolonged torture.

We will need to wait then. We need to know more, or else we will be searching in vain.

No.

You set down your bowl and look straight ahead, peering outside at the courtyard – or rather, at a point somewhere beyond the walls of the courtyard. Mydei can feel your presence wax and wane, expand and recede, until it settles down into a light thrum, akin to the tranquil qi of lotus petals and mossy creeks. He can still see you, without a doubt, but he knows that if he had not been in this room with you right now, he would have never been able to find you here without incredible effort.

It is magical, truly, how you can quiet your presence. In his many years of training and fighting, he has met only a handful of incredible soldiers who can do the same. He was only able to gain this ability himself after maturing as a person and facing the near-death consequences of overwhelming, unbound bloodlust in the midst of combat. That is not to claim that you did not learn in the same ways, but he cannot confirm nor deny because, for better or worse, you never speak of the past. Otherwise, outside of the army, he only knows of the high priests and priestesses that can also adopt a kind of otherworldly aura during their rituals and prayers.

He chews slowly, more preoccupied with observing your profile. Your features are unperturbed, essentially blank, and there is an unfocused fog in your eyes, sharply distinct from the ambition burning within your irises at the beginning of dinner. You shiver, probably to your own ignorance, and he places his things down so he can take off his robe and wrap your shoulders with it. To his surprise, and contentment, you instinctively lean over to rest your shoulder against his without disrupting your thoughts. Just as you wait for him, he waits for you.

By the time the shortest of the three candles, once a sixth of its original length, is about to extinguish, you come to, and the light in your eyes returns as well.

Innate divinity – not to be conflated with the ability to call forth divine powers or forces – is only granted to a few select individuals. More than likely, there will be no need to search the common folk.

Let us begin at the Palace.

Will the Emperor take to this idea?

Perhaps he already has conjectures of his own. I shall request an audience.

Divinity is an intricate, mysterious subject. Deeply embedded in the belief systems and cultural underpinnings of this Holy Nation, most people are naturally mesmerized and fearful of Tian’s deities and their abilities. Even those who are born with divine abilities, namely the Emperor and a select few of his children, and those who can invoke divinity through sacred objects and incantations, such as priests, priestesses, and monks, advise all to be cautious of incurring heavenly wrath. 

When you first heard of the hallucinations, you thought it to be the aftershocks of severe heatstroke. Then, when many more farmers and traders began to verify the sighting of various suns, it became clear that the divine was involved because, when individuals who have no capacity for divinity are exposed to these mystical forces, their minds and behaviors can be continuously affected. That must mean they must have come in contact with a mythic beast or creature.

The deities are known for having many children and several other distant brethren, some of which exist on the earth, roaming around as Buddhist guardians, such as the regal Dapengs, or man-eating snake monsters, the most infamous being the nine-headed Jiuying that terrorized seafarers for decades until Mydei slayed it. In this case, an immediate possibility was the return of the boar demon Feng Xi who often wreaked havoc upon farmlands. Feng Xi was also subdued by your husband a few years ago, but it would be no surprise if it were to appear again, typical of the inexplicable nature of divine beasts. But upon investigations of the ruined farmlands by their respective prefectural ministers, there were no signs of terrifying waste or death, only the usual symptoms of a long-lasting drought and ashy remains from fires caused by unrelenting dry winds. With further consideration, you also know that it is impossible, from personal observations and experiences, to invoke a heavenly force powerful – brutal – enough to cause a disaster of this magnitude. In other words, by process of elimination, the problem has to either be the direct doing of a human blessed with divinity or, even worse, a creature or deity from Tian themselves. 

You can only hope it is not the latter.

Your concern must be showing on your face, as Mydei leans over to rub his thumb firmly against the apple of your cheek.

No more. Come back to me.

You nod, knowing when to be obedient. When Mydei speaks to you in this tone, sympathetic yet earnest, you know he is looking out for you, grounding you before you can fully lose yourself. While you have impressive mental strength and foresight, you lack an attachment to the present, and without supervision, there is a very real risk of you drifting far, far away, disappearing as you once did when you were young.

Your husband takes you by the hand and guides you back to your shared bedroom. The brief walk is silent, save for your footsteps and the occasional greeting from a guard. The two of you part momentarily when you enter the chamber, as Mydei heads to the side to open the window screens to allow streams of moonlight into the room, while you take your seat on the center of the bed. It is not cold even as a slight breeze filters into the room, for his robe still shields your back and shoulders. However, you elect to take it off, and Mydei watches you strip, not just his clothing but also your layers underneath, from where he is standing.

The moon always manages to cast a romantic light on all that it befalls, and through the midst of your moans, his pants, and the joining of your bodies, over and over and over again, it generously extends its rays so that the two of you are able to have a clear view of each other in your otherwise pitch black room. Surprisingly, there is also a warmth to the moonlight, a soothing and comforting quality to it, that makes you feel as if time is passing slower than it actually is. In this prolonged moment, you can pinpoint every single movement and sensation between you and Mydei – his steeled grip around the base of your neck as he presses you tightly against his chest, the curling of your toes with every deep thrust, the crescendo of his heartbeat against yours. In this room, there is only you and him, isolated and ignorant to the rest of the world – the universe, even –, and defying all rules of space and physics, you solely focus on extending the present for as long as you can, while Mydei struggles to convey to you just how deeply obsessed and enamored he is with you. No one can intervene in this proud, unabashed act of intimacy, and if either you or Mydei dared, both of you would even describe your shared bond as sacred. And, especially for you, you know to not use that word so carelessly.

And when Mydei lays you down to peel off your legs and instead press them down, as close to your ears as possible, he goes impossibly harder and deeper. In this space, there are only the two of you, though you are only seeing him, and he is only seeing you. There are no thoughts or even carnal desires, just a fundamental appreciation and unconditional loving for the other. You whimper – my love – as he presses his sweat-stricken forehead against yours, and he responds with a passionate roll of his hips and a scathing bite that draws blood at your left shoulder. With your arms wrapped around his head, you keep him there and leave him with no choice but to continue making love to you until you unravel at your climax with your teeth clenching, thighs shaking, mind spinning, soul soaring. Mydei soon follows, piercing his nails into your hips to mark you on the outside, releasing within you to mark you on the inside, and between labored rasps of your name, he smears his lips and tongue over yours in hopes of memorizing your addictive taste, your delighted sounds, and your passionate touch.

The two of you stay intertwined, even when neither of you are reeling from the impact of your highs. To part would be to abandon this private realm, which would mean returning to your normal tendencies of hesitance and restraint, and even though all of this will repeat once again tomorrow, you lack the patience to wait, still imprisoned in the moon’s warped, elongated trajectories of time and space.

Despite your defiance, the two of you fall asleep, consumed by wariness and longing, and another day of your life passes.

–

The Emperor has ten sons and countless more daughters. Today marks the seventeenth birthday of the fourth prince, and as expected, it is a grand event. Earlier, at the celebration’s reception, there were hundreds of dancers in neat rows, all flicking their sleeves and arching their fingertips to the rhythm of the Capital’s grand orchestra, also perfectly organized and harmonious as a whole. Following the conclusion of the performance, guards, servants, and lower-ranking officials dash back and forth and around the expanse of the Palace to ensure the undeterred progression of the fourth prince’s birthday party, while higher-ranking officials and generals, along with their accompanying guests, mill about before filing to their respective seats along the two columns of tables laid out parallel to the walls of the central courtyard. In the center front, there is a raised stage with a constructed overhang large enough to accommodate the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and all ten sons. The platform and steps are entirely covered by a luxurious red carpet with golden floral patterns, and from Mydei’s seat, you can marvel at the delicate porcelain dishware set on top of masterfully carved wooden countertops. You are not used to such lavish displays of wealth and luxury because, although Mydei has long been one of the Emperor’s most loyal and trustworthy generals, that does not necessarily mean you are invited to visit the Palace often. Therefore, as the two of you wait for the birthday ceremony to officially begin, you try to sit as still as possible in order to marvel and take in your surroundings.

During this period, many governmental and bureaucratic figures visit your and Mydei’s seat to say their greetings and make elucidating small talk. Despite assuming his role as one of the Holy Nation’s protectors, your husband cannot abandon certain pet peeves of his, and he shuts down all but one of these conversations with dry responses that reveal nothing of his thoughts or opinions. The only official that he properly responds to is the Head of the Security Bureau, a man by the name of Phainon. From past dinner conversations, you remember Mydei mentioning this man but with the questionable nickname “Deliverer” instead. It was in reference to Phainon’s previous position under the Central Secretariat, though the reason behind his transfer to the Security Bureau continues to remain a secret even to your husband. Regardless, it is obvious that Mydei only tolerates this man at best, so you make sure to listen intently to their conversation.

Mydei! Rare to see you so festive!

It is Mydeimos for you, Deliverer.

Ha, yes, of course.

What is the Security Bureau doing here? What happened to keeping a low profile?

No worries, it is only me, and almost everyone here still believes I remain under the Secretariat. I am also here because I have news to share with you.

Hurry, then.

Phainon does not, though. He hums and begins to look around the courtyard. For a moment, you sense his gaze, but it does not linger for more than a full second. With a shake of his head, your husband sighs and takes deep gulps of water to keep himself preoccupied until the Security Head finally carries on.

He will want to speak to you, when it is your turn to congratulate the prince.

Regarding what?

But Phainon shrugs, and this time, there is no hint of evasion or distance. He truly does not know. But he does leave Mydei with one last piece of instruction.

You will be last in line.

After a few more teasing remarks, Phainon bids the two of you farewell, and from your periphery, you watch him disappear from the south gate.

Before dinner, all of the officials present are to line up in terms of rank and nobility, and, one by one, greet the Emperor, Empress Dowager, and the princes, as well as present their gifts. As per military customs, Mydei requested a new sword sheath of untarnished gold be made for the fourth prince, to represent unwavering courage and honorable victory, so that shall be your offering. However, these interactions usually do not last for more than a few minutes, the last ones usually even more rushed, to ensure that everyone gets their turn and are not too irritated by mealtime, so you wonder how exactly the Emperor will relay his message. Furthermore, you find it suspicious that Phainon requested your husband, one of the generals under direct supervision of the Emperor, to place himself last.

Alas, you find yourself in another situation where you cannot draw sound conclusions. But now that Phainon has left and no other officials have the gall to approach Mydei, you can actually enjoy the ongoing celebrations with your husband.

You fill his tea cup and then yours, though you take a sip first. When you look up at him, he nods in affirmation before drinking himself. The walls, you notice, are a rustic red-brown, though much of it has been covered up by the willows and persimmon trees that were moved specifically for tonight’s event. Scattered between the trunks of the trees are gathered shrubs of all kinds, from batches of orange peonies to short stalks of bamboo to clusters of purple asters. You wonder if you could bring back a few roots or seeds with you, but with one sharp glance from Mydei, you discard the idea immediately.

Your husband knows that you are bored, though, so he offers some reprieve.

There are rumors that the fourth prince might not even make it to his own birthday party.

I am not surprised. I have heard the Emperor’s sons are quite rowdy.

I believe Phainon is here to ensure that all of the princes arrive on time and participate through its entirety. I must say, it is quite entertaining to see him chase after a few brats.

Mydei.

Do not worry. The Emperor is understanding. Besides, I am sure he wholeheartedly agrees at the current moment.

Oh?

Mydei raises his chin, staring up at the night sky. It is hard to make out any one star due to the outstanding numbers of torches, lamps, and fires distributed around the courtyard, but it is not like Mydei was looking at the stars in the first place. The two of you are different in this way. You often seek the world when you think, looking outwards for celestial signs, while Mydei often becomes more introspective with his musings. Even when it looks like he is searching for something, he most likely is not, as he believes all of the answers he needs are usually, perhaps with some effort required, within one’s grasp.

Phainon has aided our investigations of the Palace. He is confident that the culprit is not to be found here.

Your fist digs into the sleeves of your gown.

There are not even signs of collusion?

You know the deities would never stoop to that level. They do not need the help of mortal intelligence or treachery. Regardless, the Emperor has been made aware of the situation, and is quite preoccupied with it. His sons’ constant running about and lack of any sort of drive or initiative is certainly not doing him any good either.

Pursing your lips, you glance at your husband, only to find him already staring at you.

Fear not, my wife. I have slain products of the divine before.

His eyes seem to glow with fierce intensity. The red and orange streaks in his eyes are more noticeable, not because of the myriad torches surrounding your table, but rather because his eyes are widening out of enthusiasm. You scowl, disapproving of his evident bloodthirstiness, yet despite your opposing morals, you slip a hand into his hold. By instinct, he begins to press at the pads of your fingertips, while rubbing circles into your palm. If it were any other day, any other moment, his physical affection would soothe and reassure you. Unfortunately, as Mydei has just confirmed the worst of your suspicions, the fear taking root in the pit of your stomach has already begun to sprout and overwhelm the rest of your emotions.

Surely there is no need to jump into a fight.

Huh, you propose a negotiation? Our deities already know what the consequences of their actions are – they do not care to change their ways, even with such knowledge. What makes you think their minds are still susceptible to reconsideration?

Perhaps some of them do care.

Your husband snorts. To be honest, he is a little surprised by your response. Neither of you are particularly devout, and throughout his many years of knowing you at this point, he knows you are not fond of the divine. So for you to defend them, to the extent of betting on their fickle and spare goodwill, is unusual.

It is not up to me, my wife. I act based on what the Emperor asks of me.

Something in you – a gut instinct, a trained intuition – tells you that you will find out the Emperor’s decision by tonight.

After another half hour, composed of more light-hearted conversation and small bites of snacks to whet your appetite, a gong finally sounds, its ringing reverberating throughout the entirety of the Palace. You feel your bones quake with each vibration, and only after its last echoes have died off does your body regain stillness. The Emperor’s secretary makes his way to the center of the stage, and with a deep bow, commands everyone to rise for the Imperial Family. Everyone stands and bows, faces parallel to the floor, until all members of the Imperial Family settle into their seats, which the secretary confirms several minutes later. Afterwards, you all line up.

Other officials have curious looks on their faces as they see you and Mydei turn away from the stage. One even asks where the two of you are headed, wondering if you have lost your minds and are intent on abandoning the ceremony, but neither of you respond and continue toward the back of the line. 

You and Mydei do not speak for the entire hour that it takes for your turn to come. The whole time, nervous and intimidated stares are directed your way, but both of you could care less, simply standing side by side, close enough for your sleeves to brush against and overlap each other.

When the rest of the officials have returned to their seats, only you and Mydei remain, standing a few feet away from the steps that lead up to the raised platform. With a nod from the secretary, Mydei leads you forward, always a step ahead, and when the two of you stand level with the Imperial Family, you get on your knees and raise your clasped hands in front of your dipped heads.

Good evening, your Highnesses. Congratulations to the Fourth Prince, for reaching his seventeenth birthday. We hope the prince continues to live a prosperous, fortunate, and long life, and I present this sword sheath, a product of the finest metals and months’ worth of labor, a tool that we hope he will use as he prepares to lead this Holy Nation. We pay our deepest respects to the Imperial Family.

An attendant takes the sheath from Mydei’s outstretched arms. Usually, one would be dismissed shortly after presenting their gift, but the secretary has yet to tell either of you to rise. Instead, you hear the sound of a chair’s legs rubbing against the carpet’s fur, along with padded footsteps that stop right in front of your husband.

General Mydeimos, you have done incredibly in serving me, and ultimately, this Holy Nation. Your loyalty is not to be questioned.

You recognize this voice. It is jaded yet firm, gentle but irrefutable. The Emperor is telling you his decision.

I want to make an announcement to all that are present, to heed my intent and my resolve. This Holy Nation has coexisted with and lived under the guidance of Tian, but it has not always been a harmonious or even peaceful endeavor. As Emperor, it is my sworn duty, an oath I have undertaken since the day of my inauguration, to protect my people, including all of you, and I can promise you that, throughout these many years under my rule, Tian and I are connected and that I have been in constant search to make a more serene coexistence – a symbiosis, if you will – possible. However –

It seems the Palace and everything within it unanimously sucks in a quavering breath.

– it has become apparent that the heavens have no interest in granting us such serenity. Of course, by no means is this speech of mine a declaration of war or defiance. Rather, I believe this burden I am about to share with you is, in fact, a challenge for this Holy Nation, and one that will be undertaken by a representative of my choosing: Mydeimos. General Mydeimos, please rise.

As much as you would love to raise your head and stare at Mydei like everyone else, you have not been granted permission to lift your head, so you can only continue to heed the Emperor’s message carefully, trying to discern any subtle implications while continuing to pay attention to the words that follow.

For the many years that he has served me, General Mydeimos has become a pillar in the Holy Nation’s defenses. He has slain many of Tian’s earthbound descendants, protecting this land from the destruction of loose spirits and evil demons. Under his watchful gaze, he had confirmed the prophetic fragments I was receiving from Tian, that it is part of this Holy Nation’s fate that we are to face our doom if we remain motionless and ignorant. My people, hear me now, and listen to me carefully, as this message of mine is not meant to inflict any unnecessary fear or anxiety. However, the heavens have told me, as I am telling you, that if nothing is done, the entire world will be burned to its core by the manifestation of ten suns. No human, no animal, no plant will survive the onslaught of ten more suns, no ocean or lake or sea can withstand the fire of ten more suns, not even Tian’s earthbound descendants will be spared.

For this most inauspicious prophecy, I must apologize, on behalf of my ten sons, for their continuous mischief and negligence have been deemed the cause of this impending tragedy. Indeed, Tian has whispered as such in my mind. This Holy Nation deeply understands the various attitudes our deities have towards humans. Some are indifferent, some are intensely curious. It seems this impending tragedy has come about from the latter. My ten sons, this Holy Nation’s royal princes, have inspired the same mischief and negligence in ten of Yudi’s sons. They aspire to experience the same carefree play that my sons have gone away with – escaping the Palace, tricking the innocent to satisfy their personal greed, disappearing for extended periods of time. This behavior has never been acceptable in the Imperial Family, yet despite our fervent attempts to curb their behaviors, Yudi’s sons have already seen enough. 

There is now more than one sun in the sky, there is no mistake to that. We will continue to see more and more suns appear, and by the tenth, we will all perish. We must not cast doubt on this matter anymore, because the severity of this issue is life-threatening.

But, again, need I remind all that are present that I do not wish to embed an unjustified sense of fear or anxiety in any of you. The reason I have called upon all of you is because I would like all that are present to bear witness to this heavenly oath that General Mydeimos will take.

You cannot help but gasp, a sharp, harsh intake of breath that almost causes you to sputter and cough. But, even when the world feels like it is falling down on you, you manage to bear the pain, and you stifle it with tears gathering in your burning eyes.

General Mydeimos, there is no end to your remarkable feats in the military, and we are grateful for all that you have done. However, this ask of mine is one of a difficulty I can promise you have never faced before, and you must know, it could be the last task you ever undertake. Knowing all of the risks, I still ask you to take the following oath: I, General Mydeimos, under the watchful eye of the people of this Holy Nation, the Emperor, and all of Tian who are interested, I pledge to take down all but one of the suns, even at the cost of my own life.

It feels impossible to breathe. It seems, no matter how you try to escape, how far you run away, or where you disappear to, the divine will always catch up to you, pulling you away from your loved ones, and the other way around. Hot streams of tears pour down your cheeks, and the only way to prevent yourself from making any noise is to bite down on your lower lip, until your jaws are locking and your teeth are piercing through the thin flesh. Your clasped hands shudder violently, not only from the exhaustion of holding them up for so long, but also from how tightly they are gripping onto each other. Your knuckles are without a doubt strained, and your fingernails are digging into the backs of your hands. Your ears ring with deafening silence, while straining to hear Mydei’s response, yet you also do not want to listen, fearful because you know that, even if he had a choice, he would always agree to a brutal fight.

Without a beat of hesitation, your husband, chief of your village, a general of this Holy Nation, speaks.

I, General Mydeimos, under the watchful eye of the people of this Holy Nation, the Emperor, and all of Tian who are interested, I pledge to take down all but one of the suns, even at the cost of my own life.

Despite the crescendo of applause, the drums, the gong, you hear nothing. You are not sure how it is that you manage to bow to the Emperor, make your way down from the stage, and return to your seat alongside Mydei’s, but to be honest, you do not care how you did any of those things. All you can think about is that, once again, your loved one is being separated from you, all because of the heavens and the divine, and even if his hand is clutching onto yours at this moment, so tight that you can no longer feel the tips of your fingers or the center of your palm, he has never felt farther away.

–

There is no more of your routine with Mydei. He is taken away at the end of the birthday party to begin making preparations for his conquest, leaving you to return to the village alone. He does not visit, can only make time to send concise messages, but he does promise you that he will return the night before he is scheduled to leave.

This is not Mydei’s first conquest, but it is his first conquest that you are dreading, to say the least. It is difficult to encapsulate the extent of your mental anguish because the resurfacing of past traumas, of memories you are insistent on forgetting, is a dark, murky sensation. It is asphyxiating, but you do not know that you are being choked until it is too late, past the point of return. You are no different from a sleeping mouse in the coiled chokehold of a starving snake, and there is nothing to save you, not even to witness your death. Part of you knows this is a globalization of an internal anxiety, as Mydei has not been slain. He is well and alive presently, but that does not answer your deepest concern: will he survive? Even if you sought out divine signals as you had once routinely done over a decade ago, you have been taught that it is taboo to seek the fate of an individual. Fate can be consulted for villages, the weather, long-term wealth, but to determine the death of somebody, even an important figure, is strongly discouraged as there is no use in disturbing one’s mind over a matter that has been set in stone since the birth of this universe.

Not that any of that is relevant. You are sure the divine, even the weakest of Tian’s spirits, would not heed your call, would pay no mind to a trivial woman that had, a long time ago, abandoned her position as a high priestess, and in turn, her prolific ability to invoke divinity. Had you remained at the convent and grown into your role as high priestess, perhaps only then would they give you a fraction of their time, but then, in that case, you would not be praying for Mydei’s safety, but rather for the protection of this Holy Nation as a whole.

There is no particular reason for why you have hidden your past from Mydei or the villagers, other than to save face. After all, no one would believe in the loyalty or commitment of a traitor. Regardless, now that there is established trust, you staunchly believe there is no need to share distasteful matters, like your pathetic past. At this moment, everyone should prioritize Mydei, as well as ensuring the operations of the village during his absence.

Mydei finds you not in the dining room, but in his office at his desk, with a candelabra burning away, as if you are prepared to work the whole night. You are combing through a few scrolls that were once shelved, the old texts he used to pore over when he was training to become village chief. It is not that you are a stranger to their contents or to the duties of the village chief. It is simply that, when you are uneasy, you tend to return to the very basics, to instill confidence within yourself that there is a logical rationale behind your actions and decisions. He knocks on the office doors and watches through the parted screen window as you scramble up from your seat from surprise. He chuckles, but had there been any listeners, they would know those were half-hearted at best.

We need to talk.

It is comforting, though, that there remain some things that will never change. Even if you are not honest, Mydei will always face you with a straightforward attitude, and compared to before, he feels more present, confirming that he is, in fact, standing in front of you, when he loops your arm through his. You let him guide you away from the office and to your shared bedroom, where you can, for the last time in a while, immerse yourselves in this space dedicated only to the two of you.

On the bed, he pulls you into a tight, engulfing embrace. With his chest molded against your arched back, his legs spread out to barricade your form, his chin atop your left shoulder where the bite mark once was, the two of you parse through all and any matters.

There will be a caravan arriving in a month’s time.

The north west gate needs to be rebuilt.

We should consider extending trade to some of the towns in the south.

You will miss it when the peaches are in season.

Be sure to visit Grandma Li. She tends to forget to take her medication.

Do not forget to rest your arm. Feng Meng will not take it easy on you, even if you are his general and him your soldier. You will always be his master first.

When you need me, look up at the moon, because I will also be gazing at it. Never forget that we are forever under the same sky.

The moonlight is especially consoling that night. Unlike his usual tendencies to dominate and overwhelm, your husband lets you set the pace, and atop him, he watches you surge up and down, the moon’s beams illuminating your damp skin, your parted lips, and your glossed eyes. Your breasts, hips, thighs ripple with every unforgiving drop of your body onto his, and his cock pierces you deeply in turn, reaching and hitting spots that cause you to see stars. He never fails to make you feel fulfilled, but tonight, you are voracious, and you just want more, more, more of him. You want to embed pieces of yourself into his body, so that throughout his campaign, no matter how long it lasts, he will never once waver when he thinks back to your touch, your scent, your love. As you continue riding him, you run your hands over his sturdy form, letting your fingers trace the divots of his muscles, the fat of his chest, the red streaks of tattoo that paint his arms. It is also so that you will never forget, drawing an illustrative map of his body so that in your times of loneliness, anxiety, and want, you also have something of his to depend upon. Perhaps you have forgotten how to live without your husband, but that is a subject for introspection later. In the present, you decide to accelerate your movements and apply more force with every exerted rise and fall.

Eventually, you collapse forward because by no means do you have as much stamina as your husband, but you urge yourself to push forward nonetheless and resort to more shallow lifts and dramatic swirls of your hips. With your face buried against the underside of his chin, you begin to mouth at his neck and Adam’s apple, the rumble of his groans and hisses traveling and vibrating straight through the thin skin of your lips. When it looks like your husband’s exhibiting a significant amount of restraint, with the way his head keeps shaking side to side and his hands grip onto your thighs with shackling strength, you cannot help but smirk, ready to give him his release that he is so desperately delaying. You litter a line of kisses down to his collarbones, and after a few laves of your tongue, as if to smooth and placate him, you bite down, sinking your teeth into the juncture where his neck and shoulders meet, clamping down so hard with the intent to punish, to instill guilt, to kill his fighting spirit.

Normally, you would never do such a thing. You have no interest in tying your partner down or forcing them to sacrifice the people and things they love and enjoy. But since he has granted you so much selfishness already, you might as well go the full way and make him really understand the state he has put you in. For, even upon reflection, you know it in your bare, raw soul that you will never know life without your husband. Where he goes, you follow. If he is alive, you will be, too. But if he were to die, then your time will also have come.

Your husband cries out loud with a wild shout of your name, arms flying to enclose themselves around your figure out of both surprise and overstimulation, and with a spontaneous jerk of his hip upwards, his cock collides with your core and slams into that spot, the one that always has you ripping apart at the seams and screaming for mercy, pulling you up to your euphoric high with him. Ironically, it feels as if you are falling from Tian, soaring through the sky while being unable to breathe, a coursing pleasure followed by a stinging, bittersweet pang. You do not even realize you are sobbing until your husband muffles your wails with his mouth, swallowing your grief and despair down with his own fears, of which he definitely has but will never voice.

Mydei is not used to seeing you so sentimental. You are more aloof and reserved, so he is not as practiced with handling your outbursts as he should be. But even he knows that this torrential surging of your emotions is really a broken heart personified. You need him to know that your heart is being torn and cracked and smashed by the inevitable reality of his leave, and he knows you are telling him that only he can fix you by coming back in one piece and with a sound mind.

For the remainder of the night, he holds you impossibly closer, one hand always keeping your face to his chest, the other always wound around your waist, his legs always tangled with yours. And before he falls asleep, he looks out the window, gazing up at a sliver of the starry sky, and prays to the moon to cast its gentle, assuring light upon you every dusk he is gone. Despite his personal gripes with the divine, he is convinced that, with the way it has never failed to make you look so mesmerizing and delicate underneath its glow, the moon will continue to bask you with its nurture and protection for as long as it takes for him to return, and he is soothed by that thought, because someone needs to look out for you in his absence.

By the early dawn, he is ready to leave. The two of you stand at the entrance to your abode, and with a chaste kiss to your forehead, he finally parts from you, distancing himself in slow motion. You watch, rooted to your spot, as he gets on his horse, relishes in one last longing gaze, and sets off. He rides away without looking back, and when he is out of sight, you, too, return to your bedroom without even the faintest sign of indecision or doubt.

–

Mydei returns not the following summer, but the summer after, right when the peach blossoms have begun shedding to make way for the green buds that will, in two to three weeks’ time, fruit. There is no fanfare or parade, not even an announcement to notify you of his arrival. In fact, for the little over two years since his departure, you were not informed of any aspect of his campaign from official channels. It did not matter, though, when everyone was able to keep track of his progress with every morning that passed.

Barely a month after his leave, you woke up with sweat soaking through your clothes and blankets, as if you had remained in a bath with your clothes on for several hours. You made it a habit to leave your windows open every night, but had you woken up that morning any later, you would have been sunburnt to the point of permanent scarring from the three suns that were just beginning to rise in the sky, their unrelenting heat scorching everything that happened to soak in its light. You got up and warned everyone in the household to remain indoors, and perilously, you took not one, but two, thickly lined parasols with you as you made your way through the village to issue warnings and usher those that were outside back into their homes. The flowers that you had tended to just the other afternoon were already wilting, dehydrated, and you goaded the rabbits from their hole with a trail of fruits and leaves to another you had haphazardly dug where there was everlasting shade.

Later on, you would hear that Mydei had first tried to negotiate with Yudi’s sons, telling them to fulfill their appetite for mischief with something else, but given the inconsistencies in the rumors, it is not clear whether the sons ignored or denied the general’s demands. It seems that Mydei’s attempt at swaying their minds only further encouraged them to follow through with their plan, and Yudi’s sons began to wreak havoc shortly afterwards. As a result, it became a hunt, one that required Mydei and his troop to race around the Holy Nation in search of each of Yudi’s kin. Mydei and his men could only attack at night, when the sons had left their daytime posts to make way for the moon, but they never came down together, instead settling in different parts of the Holy Nation.  

The information you managed to garner, in the form of riveting tales and dubiously trustworthy gossip, either came from the village children’s eavesdropping or the occasional letter from Phainon, which he sent under personal regards. There never was an explanation for why you were kept in the dark, and you never bothered to ask either, because what good would it do for you? Had your husband been slain, you and everyone else in the world would have known already, and you need not entertain excessive hope. All you had to do was see if you could wake to another day.

The worst occurred a year and a half into Mydei’s journey, when there were six suns in the sky at once, their brightness bleeding out even the pure blue of the space beyond. Everybody stayed indoors and covered every possible crack or opening to prevent sunlight from leaking in, but not without the cost of broiling within their own rooms. On days when it was more possible to venture outside, you and your guards had to visit the occasional house to pull out dead bodies, smelling of decaying rot, feces, and steam, and bury them before even their right to a dignified burial was stolen by Yudi’s kin. And this was not a problem exclusive to your village. The Palace began to ring a large gong, three resonating beats, at noon every day to honor the growing number of victims, and there was a national decree for every home to light incense and perform daily prayers during the early evenings to beg for Tian’s interference.

Of course, nobody from Tian ever responded, but it seemed as if Mydei had sensed his people’s tortured cries, and from that point onwards, the suns continue to be felled, one after the other, until only one remained, the same sun that has stood with the earth since the very beginning.

You are in his office when your head lady-in-waiting calls out your title with excited raps against the paneled doors.

My Lady! You must come! Someone has come for you!

You are on your feet immediately, and you almost knock her over when you burst through the doors.

However, you are not greeted by your husband. Rather, it is another familiar face that greets you with a toothy grin and a proud hand saluted at his head.

We have made it back, safe and sound!

You cannot help but throw your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him without reprieve for air. His arms do not reciprocate, for it is inappropriate for a man to demonstrate affection towards a taken woman, but by his hearty laughs, you know he is overjoyed by your reaction.

Where is your master, Feng Meng?

In the Capital, reporting to the Emperor. I have come to fetch you, Madam, to attend his ceremony! You must hurry!

Without another thought, you and your servants rush to dress you. There are flurries of orange sashes, twirling skirts with golden beads sewn at the waist, the clicking of green jade against white jade, and in no later than ten minutes, you are in an oxcart that speeds its way to the Palace.

It is extremely difficult to get to the Palace. First, all entrances to the Capital are at a standstill, bottlenecked by a flood of traffic composed of several donkeys, horses, and merchant carts. The inside of the Capital fares no better – in fact, made worse by all of the pedestrians, street-side shops, and narrow paths. It is only after your cart finally pushes its way through the long lines and leaves the more populated and mercantile neighborhoods that the traffic disperses, and then it is an orderly journey to the Palace. When the guards ask for the purpose of your visit, Feng Meng simply needs to flash the handle of his sword, and you are directed to enter through the back gates, typically only reserved for guests of honor.

You swallow thickly from the infinite, various thoughts swirling in your mind. Will he have scars etching every corner of his body? Will he be several shades tanner? Is his hair an unruly length, or has he cut, or worse, singed it short? Is he a changed person, more violent in demeanor or fatigued from excessive stress? You do not plan on bombarding him with your questions, as he is probably answering plenty from government officials and the Emperor himself, but you also cannot guarantee that you will be able to restrain yourself. Though, the more you think about it, you are not sure how you should react when you see him. Should you wait for him to approach you, or should you take the initiative? Will he want to embrace you or keep you at a distance to give himself some space? How different is he from the man he was more than two years ago, and what will this current version of Mydei think of you when he sees you?

You fail to devise a plan by the time your cart comes to a stop and Feng Meng holds his elbow out to help you jump down. The Palace guards instruct you to wait with the other soldiers' wives, mothers, and fathers in the tea room around the corner, and Feng Meng directs you before he has to leave to prepare for the ceremony himself. You are unsure if Mydei will come to you as you wait in the tea room, so in the case that he does, you find a chair closest to the open entrance, and sit in perfect posture, still and quiet. The other people in the room are frantic, sharing the same questions and concerns you have, but requiring and taking advantage of the comfort of family to alleviate each other’s doubts and fears. You are reminded that neither you or Mydei have other family to turn to, only each other, and oddly enough, you become more optimistic.

All of you are in the tea room for two hours before a Palace guard comes to beckon the entire gathering to follow him. The guard guides all of you to your seats, near the back of the same courtyard you were in for the fourth prince’s seventeenth birthday party. This time, instead of two columns of tables, there are rows upon rows of people kneeling shoulder to shoulder, facing in the direction of the raised center stage. As per usual, the Imperial Family has yet to make their appearance, but they soon will after the highest-ranking officials finish taking their seats.

Finally, with the blaring sound of horns and gongs and drums, the award ceremony begins, and the Emperor, Empress Dowager, and the ten princes ascend their thrones. The secretary comes at the end of the line, and with a nod from the Emperor, the former begins his speech.

Today marks the official end of General Mydeimos’ campaign to defeat ten of Yudi’s sons. General Mydeimos and his men have returned victorious, and so, we host today’s ceremony in tribute to their bravery and success.

The crowd breaks into a clamoring of applause, a little more unruly due to the ecstatic and celebratory atmosphere.

We will present General Mydeimos and his troop of 62 surviving soldiers with honorable military status, in addition to multiple monetary benefits. We will also mourn the loss of the 138 soldiers, whose lives were lost throughout the campaign’s duration, with a funeral procession that will take place the following Saturday and Sunday. Families of the deceased will receive imperial support, and on behalf of this Holy Nation, we are indebted to the sacrifices you and your sons have made. More information regarding the funeral and compensation will be announced and distributed in the coming days. With that, we will begin by awarding the 62 soldiers.

A line of soldiers marches forth from behind you, and you closely observe them as they trod past you. Their faces are set and stern, and they are wearing their tattered armor, rusted and melted swords, bows, and spears held in place on their backs. You also notice several holding onto the solder in front of them, and with a closer look, you realize many of them have either a diminished or total loss of sight. As the line reaches the steps to the stage, the secretary begins calling out each name, handing every person when it is their turn a bronze badge with an engraved solar insignia and a hefty bag of riches. There is no applause, as silence is a way of demonstrating utmost attention and respect, until all the soldiers have been named and awarded. The survivors line up once again and seat themselves along the walls of the courtyard.

Then, an obedient hush falls across the crowd, all in anticipation of the true hero. You, too, suck in your breath, eyes darting around in search of your husband, the chief of your village, a general of this Holy Nation. With a deep breath, the secretary announces his presence in a booming, grand voice.

General Mydeimos, please enter!

Your abilities to speak, breathe, even think are stolen from you. It does not feel like reality when you see Mydei, his hair tied in a clean knot on the top of his head, a velvety black cape billowing behind his broad, intimidating figure, the metal blade of his glaive glinting fiercely underneath the rays of the single sun in the sky. Mydei spares nothing to the crowd, not a prideful smirk or disinterested glance, and simply kneels deeply when he makes his way in front of the Imperial Family.

The Emperor rises from his seat, and the secretary is prompted to narrate.

General Mydeimos, the Emperor would like to personally bestow you your rewards, for your incomparable feat in defeating Yudi’s sons, ten of Tian’s mightiest creations. On behalf of the Imperial Family, he would like to award you a ranking within the nobility and an accompanying northern estate in the Capital. Furthermore, your village will receive recovery aid from the government and many trade benefits. Thank you, once again, for your service.

The Emperor gestures for Mydei to stand, and attaches a noble badge onto the latter’s cloak. Mydei then turns around and bows to the crowd.

General Mydeimos, would you like to say anything, in light of your return and victorious conquest?

He sweeps his eyes across the hundreds of people in front of him before lifting his head and glaring up at the clear blue sky.

My men and I have returned, and the Holy Nation is safe. We are safe, and undefeated.

Through the thundering of applause, cheers, and cries, you tear up at the glorious sight of your husband. He is far away, not as far as he was these past two years, but still a fair distance away such that you cannot make out the features of his face. How blessed it is to live in the same world as him, you think, and it seems your undivided admiration of your husband causes you to accidentally rid yourself of your presence. Mydei’s head snaps to look in your direction, having sensed a change within the audience. He cannot see you individually, but he knows you are somewhere amongst that section of the crowd, and he nods his head, dipping his chin with solemn confidence. Then, he begins to make his way down the steps to take his leave.

That is, until a shiver runs down his spine, a gut instinct alerting him of a formidable presence, and he swivels around to look behind him as his hands reach for his glaive, only to be blinded by a shining white light. What is even more concerning is, as he tries to block the light from his view, he notices that there is no reaction from anyone else present – in fact, there is no sound at all. The light begins to retract on its own, and as Mydei blinks through his stunned vision, he sees that the secretary, the guards lining the bottom of the stairs, the officials sitting in the front rows of the audience – all of them are frozen in place, mouths open in mid-conversation, hands stuck beside their heads in dramatic gestures, eyes wide open, unblinking. The scenery has not changed one bit, aside from the fact that everyone and everything is unmoving, yet he can still sense the formidable presence surrounding him.

Oh, I thought it was just you and me.

A voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere, speaks. Suddenly, a familiar voice – your shout – pierces through the silent space.

Mydei!

He turns to where he once looked in the crowd and spots your standing figure. But before he can sprint to you, or call you over, the voice speaks again.

Forgive me, I do not mean to scare either of you. I had only intended to speak to Mydeimos, however.

With that, your body slumps over and drops onto the ground. Without hesitation, Mydei swings his glaive and, with a snarl, holds it out in front of himself, body poised to attack.

What did you do to my wife!

You cannot fight me, for I will not appear in front of you. As for your wife, I have put her to sleep. I only wish to speak to you.

Concerning what matter?

But the voice does not speak again, and instead, his glaive is replaced, and a ball appears in one hand.

What is this! Answer me!

An elixir of immortality, made of a blade of grass found only in Tian. If you ingest this elixir, it will grant you endless life, and you will become one of us. Take this as a sign of my gratitude.

Before he can respond, there is another flash of that same blinding white light from earlier, and the chaos of the courtyard returns, everything resuming their intended ways. Only the ball in his hand, the lack of his weapon, and your unconscious form indicate that his conversation actually took place.

Following the award ceremony, Mydei is invited to stay as a guest in the Palace, but he declines, not even trying to come up with a reason to justify his need to return to his village immediately.

He returns before you do but only needs to wait for half an hour before he hears you running through the walkways of your estate, approaching your chamber where he is waiting for you. Even though he had encountered Yudi’s sons, all ten of them combined would pale in the face of the omnipotent force that had approached him, and he is sure you are as, if not more, distraught as he is.

When you come rushing in, he rises from the bed and catches you as you leap at him, your trembling body against his.

My love, are you alright!

I need to show you this.

You refuse to separate from him, though, so he squeezes his hand into the crevice between your neck and his chest, and presses the elixir against your skin. That causes you to jump back, and your expression can only be described as one of pure shock.

That cannot be.

Mydei purses his lips.

The voice said it can grant immortality.

That - that voice. Only Yudi and Wang Mu Niang Niang possess access to the elixir of immortality. It - it must have been her! How can this be!

If it is Wang Mu Niang Niang, she said this was a gift out of gratitude.

He watches you take shaky steps back to him. You are trained on the ball in his palm, in disbelief of the existence of it.

W-well… are you going to take it?

Mydei snorts.

Of course not. I would be a fool to separate us from each other for any longer. I also have no intention of becoming a liar or a hypocrite, when I have had little regard for the divine since my birth. Have you forgotten what your husband is like?

His words, mostly tart with a hint of lilting tease, manages to draw a huff of a chuckle from you.

I am home. And I plan to stay for a while.

He scans your face and frame. There are more lines on your face, no doubt a result of your labor and sleepless nights from watching over the village by yourself. Your hair has also gotten quite thin and is a lighter shade, washed out by the suns’ harsh light, and there is both a rigidness and a frailty to your aura, both of which he has never sensed before. You, too, take your time in observing your husband, who has indeed gotten quite tan, and his hair is even longer, reaching down to his hips. There are several patches of his skin that are charred and burned, and you wince at the notion of such extreme pain and beating. Some things remain the same, however, such as the chiseled lines of his muscles and the bold red of his tattoos.

Moreover, this beat of hesitation, of holding each other at an arm’s length away, stays constant as well. But it does not last as long anymore, when Mydei breaks first and draws you into his hold. This embrace is one saturated with warmth, longing, and satisfaction, your first genuine hug since the two of you parted ways over two years ago. You take in his presence, as he does with yours, and in this room, this space just for the two of you, it finally feels complete and whole again.

Later, before the both of you head out for dinner with the rest of the villagers, Mydei decides to hide the elixir in a wooden box that he conceals in the corner of the bedroom. Though neither of you may have a need for it, it may be safer to conceal its existence, especially from potential prying eyes and envious minds.

–

A week later, a Palace messenger arrives at your estate to announce the holding of a banquet that evening in honor of Mydei and his troop. Your husband scoffs at the invitation, but with a stern glare from you, he begrudgingly accepts. These days, Mydei deigns to leave your side, constantly following you about as you resume your village duties and responsibilities. You also make time to bring him around to show him what he has missed out on.

One dawn, you take him to visit Grandma Li’s grave. You bring a basket of pears, homemade rice cakes filled with peanut butter, and incense pillars as offerings, and Mydei kneels for a long time in front of the grave. Another lunchtime, the two of you go to collect peaches, and as it was a Sunday, the children who had no school to attend that day joined you with their parents and siblings. You also show him the rabbits that you raised, the babies now fully grown with fluffy white coats and beady red eyes. And the night before the Palace’s banquet, your village hosts its own at your estate, and many of Mydei’s men come over. Mydei sits with his disciple Feng Meng, while you mill about to pay your respects to the village’s elders and to extend your appreciation to the soldiers present for their loyalty toward your husband.

You pass by a table occupied by a large family of seven. You are especially close to this family’s twins who are both ten-years-old, though not out of personal bias, but because they are relentless in their pursuit for your affection. As so, when the twins notice you, they scream out to you.

Eat with us! Eat with us!

You laugh, shaking your head with a soft smile.

Sorry, little ones, but I must eat with the chief tonight. I will join you for a meal another day.

They huff, crossing their plush arms across their chests. Then, as twins are with their shared thoughts and intuition, they share a cheerful look before turning back to you. The older of the two, a girl, speaks first, before the younger one, a boy, follows up, and the two continue to alternate back and forth.

We heard something interesting at school yesterday!

It is about the chief!

And we heard it from the ninth prince himself!

The prince said the chief had a forbidden medicine –

– a medicine that would make him young forever!

But we read in our books that that kind of medicine only exists in Tian.

Yet the prince looked awfully serious. Is there something wrong with the ninth prince?

Or is the prince right? That the elixir of immortality is real?

You pat their heads while maintaining your expression.

Lower your voices and hush now. If you are caught speaking ill of the Imperial Family, you will lose your tongues. Eat, before dinner gets cold.

You bid your farewell, and head back to your table. As you walk, though, you mull over the twins’ words.

As much as you despise your upbringing as a child of the divine, you find that the hard skills you learned since young have been more helpful than not throughout your life, even after you abandoned your post. Like now, you know not to ignore the signs. Twins are fortuitous, especially boy-girl pairs, and given that they brought up the elixir of all subjects tells you that Wang Mu Niang Niang’s gift is not something that can be so easily forgotten or discarded. You must exercise caution and remain vigilant, all while exhibiting inconspicuousness.

When you return to Mydei’s side, you realize Feng Meng is gone. You ask about the latter’s whereabouts, to which your husband responds that his disciple went to the bathroom. You run your hand through his hair, tracing your fingernail through his braids that you did this morning, before you excuse yourself to change into something warmer.

You pad through the darkened walkways, stopping whenever you run into a guard or a lady-in-waiting. You ask if they have seen Feng Meng, and you follow each of their instructions, until you realize you are navigating towards your husband’s office. Before you make the bend that would allow you to see the office, you wait, extinguishing your presence as you have done when tending to the rabbits and channeling your foresight. When your soul is quiet, everything around gets louder, and though it is faint, there is a vanishing trace of disdain that you can sense that stains the path to Mydei’s office. The flickering nature of the presence tells you there must be another human nearby, one skilled but not yet masterful. But before you can fetch Mydei for help, you must confirm your suspicions.

With quick and light steps, you glide to the old willow that drapes itself over the office building. From behind the trunk, you can peer inside one of the windows, though it does take some effort as it is only wedged open by a fraction and there is no light inside. From what you can tell, there are several unfurled scrolls strewn across his desk, and if you strain your ears, you can hear the shuffling and rearranging of the items on the shelves closest to you. While you do not know who this intruder is, as it could be someone other than Feng Meng, it is clear that someone is there.

You hurry back and try your best to keep up the silencing of your qi, despite the thrumming of anxiety that courses through your blood.

Mydei catches onto your intentions quickly, as he notices your appearance has not changed at all upon your return. You note that Feng Meng’s absence persists. He comes up to you, but instead of directing him to where the intruder is, you loop your arms through his and gently urge him to follow you around the villagers and soldiers. After all, you do not know if the intruder is acting alone, and if not, there could be those watching your husband closely.

As you pace around, you quietly inform him.

Someone is ransacking your office. I believe they are looking for the elixir.

How would they know about it?

Even the children have heard about it. At the very least, it is known that the ninth prince has been talking about its potential existence in the Capital.

How would the ninth prince know about it?

It is a good question, so you ponder it briefly.

I have a hypothesis, if you will entertain me.

Please, go ahead.

Remember how I was awake initially? It could be that the Imperial Family was also awake.

How could I have missed that?

No, not in the same way that you and I were awake. We could move about, even under Wang Mu Niang Niang’s spell. I was most likely able to withstand her spell because of my tolerance to divinity. By that logic, then, it is possible that the Imperial Family and priests were also able to retain their consciousness during her appearance, but were solely limited to that.

That is enough said on your part. The rest, Mydei understands. It is his turn, then, to formulate a strategy.

I will take the direct route to our bedroom. Veil yourself and go from the back, around the washroom. I will leave first, or else they will be suspicious of you.

He rubs his thumb across your cheek, a gesture of reassurance, and he makes some conversation with a few of the elders to his side before he goes on his way. You spend even longer lingering around the villagers, but also with the soldiers, to see if any of them are accomplices. But there is no sense of hostility or hatred from them. The more you investigate, hovering within the soldiers’ presence, the more confident you are that none of them are involved. That leaves you with two options: the intruder is acting alone, confirming their identity as Feng Meng, or alongside members of the Security Bureau.

You sigh. You must go now.

–

Mydei is broiling with anger. There is no need to hide his presence, as he wants to make it known that he is furious. His people have long suffered at the hands of the current empire, the village having been conquered during his incompetent father’s reign, and while he has tried to make peace with the Emperor, he has never once forgiven him and the Holy Nation. Now, he is being targeted for something he did not ask for – if they wanted it, they could have just asked for it! He shakes his head and rolls out his wrists, preparing to draw his blade and kill all that invades his home.

You are too reckless, Mydei.

Mydei swings, but misses.

Deliverer!

The Head of the Security Bureau steps out of the shadow, a black mask covering all but his piercing blue eyes. Had Mydei not worked with the Head before, the latter’s sudden appearance would have startled him.

You fool! You have always been the Emperor’s dog!

Mydei, it is you who is the dog. You need to be subjugated. The Emperor will no longer tolerate defiance from you or your village.

Defiance! How laughable!

This is not a laughing matter.

This is no matter in the first place.

I am afraid, then, that this is not something we can talk through.

Mydei has no doubt that he can defeat Phainon. His only fear is that he will not be fast enough.

–

It seems you were right in following the signs because you are exceptionally lucky. The moon lights your path so that you can navigate your way through your abode with ease and speed. So far, there does not seem to be anybody trailing you, and the intruder is nowhere to be seen, so they are not targeting you either. At this rate, it is likely that the intruder has left Mydei’s office and is searching elsewhere.

You take a deep breath out of relief when you arrive at your chamber and realize that no one else is present. There is only one entrance to your bedroom, so you take extra care to be silent as you come around from behind the building, and when the coast is clear, you sneak into your room. You pay no mind that the inside is dark, as you know the placement of everything by heart. You approach the corner of the room where Mydei hid the wooden box inside a large jar with bamboo planks stacked on top. You remove everything one by one, hurrying but prioritizing the need for silence above all else. But, again, it seems luck is on your side, and you are able to retrieve the elixir without a hitch. You move everything back to their original placements, except for the medicinal ball that you tightly clutch in your fist.

All is well, until you step out of your bedroom. 

You cannot help but scream when you see Mydei, bloody and battered, fighting against Phainon, bruised and limping.

No!

Both of them cease their movements, surprised by your presence. But before either of them can come to, something surges up from beneath you, and a hand flies up to grab you by the neck, limiting your ability to breathe without delay.

It hurts. It is an excruciating pain of being crushed under a heavy weight. You have heard that suffocating is akin to drowning, which feels like being roasted and burned from the inside out. You wonder if Mydei has ever experienced pain like this, perhaps when he received those patches of permanently seared skin. In your choking, murky view, you can make out the blurred outline of Feng Meng, his face contorted in an ugly, deceitful frown as he breathes heavily. And through your pounding ears, you barely make out his words.

I know you have it! If you just give it to me, Madam, your life will be spared!

Even if you could talk, you would not answer. However, since you cannot speak anyway, you demonstrate your refusal by flailing, thrashing your legs in every direction possible and beating Feng Meng’s arms with your fists. You know that you are only wasting your energy, but since Feng Meng is not ready to kill you yet, you desperately take in shallow gasps of air as well. You can hear Mydei screaming your name over and over again in between silvery screeches of gold colliding against brass, and by now, you think your guards should be on their way to address the commotion. But even their arrival might be too late for you, and it seems your luck has run out.

Feng Meng’s grip on you tightens, preventing air from entering you entirely. You probably look like a fish out of water, uselessly gaping your mouth and sputtering drool all over.

Madam, I will only ask you once more, or I will take it by force! Please hand over the elixir!

It is no use. You will not give him the elixir, and he needs to retrieve it by any means. With no compromise in sight, the two of you are at a standstill. That means one of you has to take action.

Without another thought, with the last remnants of your fading strength, you bring your shaky fist to your greying lips and release your clutch, dropping the ball into your mouth. 

Then you swallow.

It is as if time has stopped, once again. Everyone else, including Mydei, is frozen in the middle of their actions, and only you are able to move for however long you have. You remove Feng Meng’s chokehold on you, and heave in desperate breaths.

Your mind immediately begins to clear, and that is made apparent when you sense her. Now that you know who she is, her omnipresence, preceded by a white light, is less frightening.

That was not intended for your use.

You take another deep, shuddering breath.

My apologies, Wang Mu Niang Niang. But I figured it would be better than handing it over to the likes of Feng Meng. He would have eaten it on the spot.

That was not a call for you to make.

But you knew this would happen. I know the divine are capable of seeing into the future.

You are too powerful for your own good. Perhaps this was the best outcome, after all.

Seeing that you are still on your own, you rush to Mydei’s side, placing a hand on his cheek. His eyes are wide, golden and rouge irises twinkling under the moonlight. His mouth is wide open, as he was probably in the midst of screaming at you to Just hand it over! There are blood splatters that cover his temple and neck, and you use your sleeve to rub those away, before peppering kisses onto the corners of his lips.

Mortal, I will allow you to bring two things from this earth to the moon, where you will join me.

You pause in the middle of your kissing to respond, icily.

If you are pitying me, I will have none of it.

Are you in any position to refuse pity? Regardless, you do not have a choice. This elixir is of my making, so you must obey my commands. On the moon you will reside, and every year on this day, I will grant you the opportunity to see your beloved on this earth.

You leave one last kiss on your husband’s nose before you step back. Although you will be able to see him once a year, it feels… strange. You had promised yourself that, upon Mydei’s return, the two of you would be able to return to your normal routine and only be subjected to a few hours’ worth of separation every day. Even now, as you let your eyes linger over every centimeter of his face, you can tell that much of him has changed throughout his campaign, and before you have the chance to memorize his new contours and creases, it is you who must leave, by divinity’s demand, and you will never be able to know him as well as you once did.

How strange and twisted, you think, but for some reason, there is a distinct sense of acceptance within you. Perhaps the past two years have tested you, and you no longer fear fate’s outcomes because, at the very least, Mydei did the impossible in defeating Tian’s dwellers and survived. It might also be that you know Wang Mu Niang Niang is already demonstrating as much mercy as the heavens will allow, so even if you were to throw a fit or beg for more, the goddess herself would not be able to do anything. Or maybe, at one indistinguishable point, you unconsciously resigned yourself to the divine, and knowing that it will do anything it can to torment you, you have carried that grief along and never once set it down. This sudden unraveling of your life and the way you have known it to be has simply allowed that grief to surface, and you can only shake your head when faced with the darkened, disintegrating state of your heart.

You proceed to shuffle backwards, away from Mydei, until he is barely out of reach. You take the golden cuff that holds his front braid together, before you walk to the nearby courtyard where the rabbits reside. You uncover their burrow, unrooting purple forget-me-nots and creeping buttercups, and reach in to pull out the runt of the newest litter, no different from a solid figurine in your palm.

I am ready.

How strange, your choices. Explain to me, mortal.

There is not much to it. I suppose I find sentimentality in things that keep me going.

How bold of you, to not tell the truth in front of the likes of me.

You could force it out of me, if you so wish.

You watch as a staircase and railing of stardust, moonlight, and cosmic nothingness appear before your eyes in the middle of the courtyard, spiraling upwards and into the sky, ending somewhere far beyond where the moon hangs. You stare at Mydei’s braid cuff and the baby rabbit, which you notice is beginning to shiver, and you tuck both of them in the inside of your robe before ascending the first steps of the staircase.

As you climb, you notice the earth below you gradually resuming its time. A breeze brushes past the tips of your ears, and you delight in the perfume of fresh mint, blooming magnolias, and rose peonies it carries. In the distance, an owl hoots, and a pair of magpies flutter down to a pond you cannot see. You lose yourself to the natural order of the earth because, soon, you will leave this land.

Suddenly, a yell of your name draws you back. You lean over the railing and see that below, Mydei is gazing up at you. You can still make out the expression on his face – one of loss, desperation, and frustration. He is biting on his lower lip, and there are divots between his eyebrows. His eyes appear especially glossy and bright underneath the moon’s light.

Where are you going?

To the moon.

Can you come back down to me?

I cannot.

Your husband takes a few seconds before replying, and as you wait, the sound of grass blades ruffling and bats flying fill the silence.

I see. Then can I come up to you?

Wang Mu Niang Niang intercedes.

No. You will live out the rest of your life and die on this earth.

You and Mydei share a solemn look. Neither of you can say anything, as both of you have begun to weep, quiet tears clumping together eyelashes and rolling down the apples of your cheeks. But Mydei is also aware of the unforgiving reality that you may disappear at sudden, so with a shaky, breaking voice, he attempts to carry on the flow of the conversation, clinging onto any chance to hear his wife’s voice again.

When will I next see you?

Whenever the moon rises.

I will look up at the night sky every evening. And in person?

Every year, on this day, at this time.

I will meet with you every year. I swear.

I look forward to it, my love.

Are you cold? I am sure it is cold on the moon.

Do not worry. I have all that I need.

Wang Mu Niang Niang intercedes once more.

Enough of your idle chatter!

But the two of you carry on, because both of you have realized that Wang Mu Niang Niang is kind, and no longer are the two of you fearful of Tian or the divine or divinity as a whole. Rather, in the last, ticking seconds that you have, it is most important to cherish and express the unyielding, everlasting love you have for each other, as husband and wife. With soft, longing smiles, you utter the same sentence together.

We are forever –

– under the same sky.

Both of you press your fingers to your lips before extending your arms out towards each other, hoping that the full extent of your yearning, love, and devotion will be conveyed and reach the other. Then, with a flash of blinding white light, you disappear from Mydei’s sight.

You, of course, can still see him, but you will yourself to turn your chin away and climb up, up, up so that by tomorrow night, you will have made it to the moon, and Mydei will be able to see you from the window of your shared bedroom.

The world resumes, as if you were never there at all, as if time never stopped flowing. But Mydei knows you were real, are real. He reminds himself he need only survive tonight alone, and tomorrow, he will see you again, for the two of you can never be apart for too long.

And he is right because, by the decree of the heavenly gods above and their kindred spirits down on the earth in the forms of the water, leaves, wind, and destiny, you and Mydeimos are for each other, to always be intertwined and inseparable in this vast, vast universe.

–

“Lao Lao, why do we eat mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival?” A little boy, no more than six- or seven-years-old sits at the dining table, feet kicking back and forth as they dangle off the edge of a chair meant for an adult. On the table, there is an array of emptied pots and plates, evidence of a large and festive meal devoured. Sitting directly across from him on the other side is his maternal grandmother.

“Because the lady on the moon likes them,” the grandma replies, preoccupied with tearing apart the packaging of a mooncake, which she hands to her grandson.

“Why do we care about the lady on the moon?”

The grandma’s eyebrows furrow. “Aye, Duo Duo, watch what you say! It is an important cultural celebration.”

“But why?”

“So many questions! She saved her husband, alright?”

“What happened to her husband?”

The grandson watches his grandma pause before recalling, “He was murdered by his student with a club made out of a peach tree.”

“Woah, that’s oddly specific. Did the husband love the lady on the moon?”

“Of course! Do you know nothing about the Mid-Autumn Festival? Before his death, the husband would burn incense and stare up at the moon every night to see his wife, and every year, today was the only day he could meet his wife in person. That is why we honor our ancestors during this festival, because we are closest to them now.”

The grandson shrugs, having lost interest halfway through his grandma’s explanation, romance lost on his inexperienced shoulders. “Sounds weird.”

“Duo Duo!”

The grandson ignores his grandma and pries open his mooncake. “Wait, Lao Lao, can you eat the yolk for me?”

“Aiyah, just eat it all yourself!”